


Woman In White

by TinkerbellBleu



Series: The Ties That Bind [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 16+, A+ Parenting, Action/Adventure, Alternate Timeline, Bonding, Cliche, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Epistolary, F/M, Fanfiction, Horror, Language, Major Character, OC, OFC - Freeform, Original Character - Freeform, Original Female Character - Freeform, Reboot, Rewrite, Sam Winchester - Freeform, Sass, Season 1, Series, Slow Burn, Snark, Subtext, Supernatural - Freeform, Violence, arc, crosspost, mostly canon, smut-lite, spoiler - Freeform, trope, woman in white
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2019-10-06 09:29:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 46,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17342816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinkerbellBleu/pseuds/TinkerbellBleu
Summary: Twenty-two years after witnessing their mother's brutal murder at the hands of paranormal forces, brothers' Sam and Dean Winchester hit the road to hunt the things that go bump in the night after being trained their entire lives by a father obsessed with revenge.After their father goes missing, Sam and Dean join up with their reluctant rookie Skye, following his trail to Jericho, California. Looking into a 5-mile stretch of blacktop, the trio must figure out who or what is causing men to vanish without a trace before anyone else disappears.Saving people, hunting things, the family business.Join the hunt.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Series Summary and Author's Note:
> 
> The Ties That Bind is a Supernatural alternate timeline rewrite, starting with the pilot episode, 'Woman in White'. While most of the episodes are canon (I'd say it's like 80/20), there is an OC added as a main character that does end up hooking up with Dean. I know that's not the most popular thing ever, so if it's not your thing, that's fair warning so you're not wasting your time reading something you're going to end up hating. Some mythology has had to be changed, of course, but I've tried to keep everything as close as possible to the canon universe, or at least have it make sense in the overall scheme of things if it's a more drastic change. 
> 
> With that being said, this series should make total sense even if you've never seen the show, though you will miss some references, foreshadowing, and in-jokes. I would highly recommend you at least watch the first couple of episodes of Supernatural, just so you know what everything looks like and the general feel of the universe, though it's not strictly necessary. 
> 
> As of right now, I do intend to finish the entire series, but that's a very ambitious goal. At a rough estimate, it'd take 6+ years and like 16 million+ words so...yeah, we'll see how that goes.
> 
> When I started the series, I sucked. Like, seriously. it had been several years since I'd written anything so it's a bit clunky and awkward at first, but I'd like to think I'm getting better. I can proudly say that I am solidly mediocre these days.
> 
> If you're still reading this, I like you and you should know you're a fabulous person and if you're still with me up to this point, I'm going to hope you've decided to read my stories. I hope you like them! Please, if you have any feedback/reviews/comments/constructive criticism or questions, don't hesitate to post a comment or PM me.
> 
> The complete series index can be found in the author's notes at the end of this story.

 

 

 

 

_The Personal Journal of Skye Winchester_

_Warning: This journal contains inappropriate language, violence, alcohol and drug use. Adult situations, sex...the whole nine yards. If you're not comfy with that, then rock on elsewhere 'cause this ain't for you._

_If you're a Hunter, the name on the cover should be familiar to you. If you're not a Hunter, then how the flying fuck did you find this journal? Just put it down and back away, nothing contained herein will make any sense to you. If you're a Hunter who hasn't heard the name Winchester, well then you've been living under a rock for the last several years and you're probably not much of a Hunter. Get out now before you die bloody. On the off chance that you don't suck and you still haven't heard of me or my family, well I guess I'll start at the beginning._

_My name is Skyler Summer Winchester, though my maiden name was Bleu. Skye Bleu. Funny, right? Yeah, my Mom thought so. She was a bitch like that. Now let's see, where exactly is the beginning of my story? Was it when I was born? December 24th, 1986. Christmas Eve. Not that Christmas or Birthdays ever mattered much around my house._  
_No, definitely not there._

 _Was it the day I met Dean Matthew Winchester and my life, my whole world, flipped upside down and changed forever? You'd think so, but no._  
_The beginning is really the day I met Sammy, Dean's younger brother, and the three of us took a little road trip to Jericho, California._

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 1

November 1st - November 4th, 2005

The darkness outside was lit only by the flickering street lights when the black 1967 Chevy Impala pulled up outside a shabby apartment building in Palo Alto, California, more commonly known as the home of Stanford University. At half-past three in the morning, the streets were deserted, even the hardest partying college kids asleep or passed out by now.

Pulling up alongside the curb opposite the building, the dark-haired young man in the driver's seat cut the engine, the strains of Led Zeppelin's 'Ramble On' fading away. An arm resting against the door, he stared across the street without really seeing what was there, lost in thought. Was he doing the right thing in coming here? It'd been four years, was it really fair to come in after all this time and ask his brother to abandon the life he'd built to come with him? Of course, if it'd been just him, he probably wouldn't be here...but he had  _her_ in tow and really, he just couldn't handle being alone with her anymore. Four years and it was a  _girl_  that made him finally break down and come find his brother. Ridiculous.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to ignore the lingering scent of the perfume she wore. Or maybe it was her shampoo? Not that it mattered, it was everywhere.

"Dean."

Now if only he could actually ignore her as easily as he pretended to. Hard as hell to do, she was loud, stubborn, and annoyingly persistent. And she was trying to get his attention. Again.

"Dean."

If only her voice matched her demeanor, she'd sound like a fifty-year-old two-pack-a-day smoker but no, it had to actually be pleasant. The Midwestern accent was quite charming when it wasn't being used to disparage his existence and insult his ancestry.

"Dammit, Dean, I know you haven't gone deaf in the last hour," Picking up the book off her lap that she'd been reading, she smacked him in the arm with it. No way was she just going to let him sit there and ignore her like that.

Recoiling at the unexpected hit that, okay let's be honest, kind of stung a little. The girl had a good arm. Whipping his head around, he glared at the ridiculously small brunette sitting next to him. He was already tired and aggravated, not to mention worried, apprehensive and just all around exasperated and pissed off with every Goddamn bit of this situation and she wasn't even trying to help matters. At all. Of course, neither was he, but she was driving him out of his damn mind and there was jack-all he could do about it right now. Except maybe strangle her in her sleep, "What, Skyler? What the fuck do you want now?"

"Well, for starters, I want you to stop callin' me Skyler. It's just Skye. It's not that hard a concept, it doesn't take a genius to grasp this," Retrieving the book from where it had fallen, she opened the glove box and stashed it back where she'd found it, right next to the gun. The book had been a surprise, the gun had not, and she had quite vocally let him know just that. "'Course, from what I've seen, you're not burdened with an overabundance a brain cells."

"You know your parents were dicks, right? Who names their kid fuckin' 'Skye'."

"Oh that is a massive understatement, but it doesn't change the fact now does it," Winding a strand of hair around a finger, she ended up fraying the end of the braid that hung over her left shoulder, a nervous habit. The only one she seemed to have. She was damned hard to read otherwise...or would have been if she didn't say every damn thing that popped into her head, "Besides,  _Dean_ , last I checked, your name was a title."

"Stay put,  _Skyler._ I'll be right back," Throwing open the driver's side door, he stepped out into a night that was uncharacteristically chilly considering the locale, broken glass crunching beneath his black biker boots. Turning, he leaned in the door and gave the girl a long look before closing it, damn well knowing she wasn't going to listen, "I mean it, stay here."

Turning on a heel, he crossed the road to the small lawn wrapping around the building, leaving Skye alone in the Chevy to contemplate Life, the Universe, and Everything. For about two seconds.

"Oh fuck this noise," Muttering under her breath, she flung open her door and jumped out, slamming it behind her a little more forcefully than strictly necessary. Okay, maybe a lot more forcefully than necessary. Even from here she could see Dean flinch at the sound of metal on metal. Good. She didn't even bother to try to curb the smile that formed at that. He loved the damn car so much, would serve him right if the fucking thing ended up smashed to bits in a twisted heap of wreckage right in front of him.

Hands in her pockets of her worn out jeans, dingy kicks squeaking on the asphalt, she caught up to him quickly. Staying just out of easy reach, she followed him down the stairs that lead to the heavy wrought iron door blocking the entrance, managing the briefest of glimpses around the interior before starting up the long wooden staircase that spiraled around to reach the floors above.

In spite of what she thought of the man, she couldn't quite manage to not watch him. The way he moved was certainly...interesting…and it was kind of unfortunate his jeans weren't a little tighter. He might be a dick, but at least he was easy on the eyes.

It wasn't till they'd reached the third floor that he stopped, kneeling in front of the door that supposedly belonged to his younger brother, Sam.

It wasn't fair, even kneeling he was just about as tall as she was. Not that that was really saying a whole lot. At 5'0" and 98 pounds on a good day, she wasn't exactly the type to strike fear into the hearts of her enemies. Not that she had any. Well, that she knew of. Dean, on the other hand, was just pretty damn intimidating all around. At 6'2" and a good 180 pounds of solid muscle, dude was kind of built, though she hadn't actually gotten a look under the twenty layers of flannel he insisted on wearing to confirm that theory. Seriously, she had yet to see him in anything less than a t-shirt and a button-up, ninety-percent of the time with a jacket over that, no matter how freaking hot it was. Psycho. And have we mentioned the serious kink he had for flannel? Because that could stand mentioning a few times. It was absurd. Well, at least she thought so.

"What are you doing? Why don't you just knock?"Watching him take a small pack of slim metal picks out of the pocket of his dark blue corduroy jacket, she raised a brow, rocking back on her heels and looking at him as if she really thought he was stupid enough to not know how to perform such a simple task, "It's not a hard skill. I could teach you, if you want."

Of course, she knew better. You couldn't spend a hundred and forty-something hours and counting within three feet of someone and not get a pretty decent idea of their intelligence. He was damn clever, really, though she'd rather be drawn and quartered than admit that. Seriously, it wasn't fair. He was tall, dark, and handsome as hell with a boyishly charming smile, perfect white teeth, and drop-dead gorgeous candy-apple green eyes. Just about every hetero woman's wet dream made flesh. If only every square inch of him wasn't full of bullshit and sarcasm...and beer.

"Where's the fun in that?" Leaning back as the lock disengaged with a faint click, he sat back on his heels and looked up at her, aggravation in every line of his body, "I thought I told you to wait your ass in the damn car."

Rearranging her features into a perfect mask of pure innocence, she flashed him her sweetest smile, "What about the last few days gave you the slightest indication that I actually listen to a fuckin' thing you have to say?"

"You're a real bitch, you know that," Standing slowly, he towered over her for a moment, giving intimidation a shot. It might have worked if she hadn't spent the last week listening to him snore, drool in his sleep, and sing along horribly off-key to every eighties hair band that ever existed.

"You say that like it's a bad thing, you complete asshat."

"I just-ugh," With a growl deep in the back of his throat, he turned the doorknob and let himself into Sam's apartment, not bothering to stop to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. If he stayed out there a second longer, it'd just devolve into a fight like so many of their other sorry excuses for conversations had.

Unwilling to let Dean see any uncertainty on her part, she forced herself across the threshold after only a brief hesitation. She had her doubts that this was really his brother's apartment, but her other option was to stay outside. Alone. Thousands of miles from home. In the middle of the night. A possible B&E charge really seemed the better option at the moment.

* * *

Between a small lamp left on in the corner of the living room and the light filtering in front from outside, it was bright enough to not trip and die. Making out the couch against the far wall, she promptly walked over and sat her happy ass down. Leaning back, she crossed her arms and made a mental note to install an alarm system next time she had anything she could call home.

Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back, ears straining for the sound of Dean moving in the next room. A guy his size should have been like the cliche'd bull in a china shop, but of course he wasn't. Nope, he was actually unnervingly silent when he felt the need to be, though apparently, he didn't feel the need for long. From silence to the sound of him moving around freely in the kitchen, then the faint creak of the floorboards as he joined her in the living room.

Watching him with narrowed eyes, she waited for whatever in the hell was going to happen next.

It wasn't a long wait.

Contemplating calling out a warning to Dean as a tall figure stepped quietly up behind him, she quickly changed her mind. After all, where's the fun in that?

The towering shadow caught him off guard, landing a solid blow, quickly followed by a flurry of activity too fast to make out in the darkness. Closing her eyes, she bit her lip and tucked herself into the far corner of the couch, making herself as small as possible. She was not a fan of sudden violence, or not-so-sudden violence, for that matter.

To her way of thinking, it was entirely too long before the sound of a body hitting the floor announced the fight was more-or-less over. And of course Dean was the victor, because it was just asking too much to see someone kick the snot out of him.

"Whoa, easy tiger." The light from the window fell on Dean's face as he leaned over the man pinned beneath him, revealing a broad grin, the laughter in his voice the closest Skye'd yet seen to him actually any sort of happy. His default setting seemed to be brooding and terse, though her presence could certainly be contributing to that.

"Dean?" The man currently measuring his length on the floor looked up at him. From the disbelief in this voice, it was obvious that Dean was just about the last person he expected to be pinning him at half past three in the morning. Trying to raise himself up on his elbows, a difficult task with 180 pounds of jackass on your chest, he seemed confused, "You scared the crap out of me."

"That's 'cause you're out of practice," Almost before the words left his mouth, Sam had somehow hooked a leg around Dean's waist, leveraging him up and over, reversing their positions. The hard thump of Dean's body hitting the ground none too gently elicited a chuckle from the girl on the couch that she didn't even try to hide. He totally deserved it.

"Or not. Get off me," Gasping, he sucked in the breath that had been knocked out of him. Giving Sam a helpful shove in the right direction, he spared a glare in Skye's direction as he got back to his feet. If she didn't know better, she'd almost think he looked embarrassed. Course you'd have to be human for that. Could asshole count as a species? "Shut up."

Skye managed to get a good look at Sam as he pushed himself up off the floor, towering over his older brother but a good three inches. Jesus, Dean hadn't mentioned the man was a damn sequoia.

"Dean, what the hell are you doing here?"

"I  _was_  lookin' for a beer." Grasping Sam's shoulder, he smiled and pulled him down for a bug, surprising Skye with the open display of affection. He hadn't seemed the type to, you know, have feelings.

Getting slowly to her feet, she took a good look at the man she'd been hearing so much about the last few days. The way Dean had talked about him, you'd think he was still a kid. A gangly, awkward kid. That was very much not the case. Easily a good 6'5" with a gray-blue t-shirt that stretched over broad shoulders and 220 pounds of wiry muscle, he was obviously in excellent shape. She hadn't expected that, or the dark shaggy hair and hazel puppy dog eyes. The resemblance between him and Dean was evident in the sharp cheekbones, the strong jaw, and the cleft chin.

Damn. Good looks definitely ran in the family. Even the way they moved was the same, though if Dean were to be trusted...and he wasn't...then that was more training than DNA.

Shielding her eyes from the sudden glare, Skye looked over at the bombshell blonde that stood in the doorway, hand still on the light switch. Great, surrounded by gorgeous people. Skye suddenly felt like a 12-year-old tagging along with her older brother to his friend's house. Wonderful.

"Sam?"

"Jess, hey…Dean, this is my girlfriend Jessica. Jess, this is Dean and-" As if finally remembering this wasn't the most normal way for someone to pop in on their relatives, Sam made introductions. Looking over at Skye, his expression went blank, "I have no idea who that is."

"Well that's 'cause your brother has so rudely failed to introduce us." Hands stuck firmly in her pockets, she crossed the room to give the much taller man a good once-over from head-to-toe, "You know, you're shorter than I imagined."

Caught off guard by the teasing comment, Sam found himself smiling at the young woman, "And you're Dean's...girlfriend?"

The bewilderment in his expression was easy to read. Apparently, she wasn't Dean's usual type. No big surprise there.

"Oh, Hell no." Glancing over at Dean, she rolled her eyes hard enough to make them creak before looking back up at Sam, "Warren Buffett couldn't afford to pay me enough to date him."

"I'd rather swallow ground glass." Scoffing, Dean echoed the sentiment before giving a half-assed effort to explain, "She's-she's...she's a temporary inconvenience is what she is."

"That can be arranged." Turning to offer Jessa cheerful smile that she in no way really felt, she wiggled her fingers at her, "Sorry. Hi. I'm Inconvenient, it's nice to meet you Jessica."

"My pleasure. I think." Looking bemused before recognition dawned on her, "Wait, your brother Dean?"

"You know, I love the Smurfs." Grinning, Dean's eyes settled on the cartoon characters decorating the chest of Jessica's cut-off t-shirt. Slipping his hands in his pockets, he slid closer to Jess, rocking back on his heels as he let his gaze wander over her, "You know, I gotta tell you, you are completely out of my brother's league."

Trying to smile in spite of her discomfort, Jessica took a step back, a nervous chuckle finding its way out, "Just let me put something on…"

"No. No, no." The timbre of Dean's voice turned smooth, much more pleasant than the aggravation he typically used on Skye. Much creepier too, "I wouldn't dream of it. Seriously."

Showing no sign of buying into Dean's bullshit, Jessica rolled her eyes hard enough to see her own brain, the look remarkably similar to the one that had been on Skye's face for the last fifteen minutes.

"Alright, you perv, you're weirdin' the girl out. Ever hear of boundaries? Personal space? Not bein' a fuckin' creep?" Stepping in between Dean and Jess, she glanced over her shoulder at Jessica and smiled before turning back to look up at Dean, her usually unreadable expression looking decidedly cranky, "I'm sorry about him. He's not house trained. Sometimes I'm surprised he can function like a normal human person at all. Can't really blame the boy though, poor thing failed out of obedience school."

"Whatever." Giving Skye a withering look, Dean took a second to loom threateningly but only got a raised eyebrow in response, "I gotta borrow your boyfriend here to talk about some private family business, but nice meetin' you."

Did he practice being a jackass in the mirror? He was too good at it for it not to be rehearsed.

"No." Finally gathering his thoughts, Sam joined Jess, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer to him, "No. Whatever you want to say, you can say in front of her."

"Okay. Umm," biting his lower lip, Dean quickly covered his discomfort with a sardonic smile, "Dad hasn't been home in a few days."

"So he's working overtime on a Miller Time shift." Stiffening, Sam went cold. Yeah, it wasn't at all obvious he didn't have the best relationship with his Dad. Oh, wait, yes it was, "He'll stumble back in sooner or later."

Without meaning to, Skye drifted a step or two closer to Dean, as if to offer moral support. Not that she'd ever do such a thing. Or that he'd accept it if she did. If he wasn't totally off his rocker, which was still a real possibility, then she couldn't help but feel a little sympathy. ...dammit.

Their father, John Winchester, had left a couple weeks back on a hunt. Not an ordinary hunt, no elk or deer on a trip like this. Nope, his prey was a monster. An honest-to-God monster, like something straight out of a Bela Lugosi film. If that wasn't weird enough, this particular monster killed the boys Mom Mary back in 1983 when Dean was 4-years-old and Sam was just six months.

John went a little crazy after that. Obsessive. Determined to find the thing that killed his wife and exact revenge, no matter the cost. He'd raised his boys to hunt and fight, to kill the things that go bump in the night, soldiers instead of sons.

From the stories Dean had told her about his Dad, Skye couldn't say she liked him much. Or at all. Dean seemed to worship the ground the man walked on though, a good obedient grunt even when John wasn't there. She really wouldn't have been surprised if Stockholm Syndrome were somehow a factor. Definitely some brainwashing.

From Sam's chilly reaction to the news of his missing father, it was clear he didn't feel quite the same way about John that his older brother did. Dammit. Okay, so maybe Sam coming along wasn't as much of a sure thing as Dean seemed to think. That could potentially suck. If tall, dark and lanky didn't come along then she'd continue to be alone with  _him_  and she was fairly sure she'd go stark raving mad.

The real unsettling part was that not all of the reasons she was going to end up in a straightjacket were negative. It had been a very long week.

There was also the fact that if everything Dean had been telling here were actually true, a huge  _If_ , then this was way over her paygrade. She wasn't stupid and she wasn't suicidal, they'd need help just to keep her from getting herself killed. Or worse, someone else.

"Dad's on a  _hunting_  trip." Hands in his pockets, Dean pursed his lips, making very sure to clarify his statement in a way Sam would undoubtedly understand, "And he hasn't been home in a few days."

"Jess," The instantaneous change of expression on Sam's face was interesting to see when you were only used to seeing that kind of thing on your own features. There was no mistaking that he understood Dean's meaning perfectly, "Excuse us, please."

Moving way faster than any guy his size had a right to, Sam grabbed Dean's shoulder and steered him right out the front door, pausing only long enough to throw on a gray hoodie.

Not really sure whether or not to follow the boys or stay with Jessica, Skye hesitated. On the one hand, she wasn't family and Jess was hot. On the other hand, she was going to be in the thick of this regardless so...she may as well follow, right? Not to mention her curiosity might actually kill her.

Dredging up a smile, she managed to mutter an apology to the young woman as she slipped out the door after the boys, "Sorry. I'm sure you don't wanna deal with this anyway. The less time spent around Dean, the better."

Looking nonplussed, Jess didn't make a move to stop any of them.

* * *

Doing a pretty damn good job of not looking as out of place as she felt, Skye quickly caught up to the boys, taking the stairs down two at a time. Sound carried a little too well in the stairwell and she could make out every word and Sam's tone was decidedly belligerent, "I mean, you can't just break in in the middle of the night and expect me to hit the road with you."

"You're not hearing me, Sammy." Explaining patiently as he stepped lightly down the stairs, Dean didn't bother to look behind him as he spoke.

Huh. She hadn't thought the man possessed any patience. Or any other virtue, for that matter. Unless you counted general attractiveness as a virtue...not that she found him attractive at all. He also didn't have a really nice ass. Nope. Not at all.

...It had been a  _very_  long week.

And 'Sammy'? Really? Dude was like seven feet tall and could bench press a small car. Sammy was what you called a fat, freckled kindergartner. Or maybe an overweight chihuahua.

"Dad's missing and I need you to help me find him."

"Remember the poltergeist in Amherst?" Sam apparently did. There had to be a good story there and Skye made a mental note to ask about it later, "Or the Devil's Gates in Clifton? He was missing then, too. He's always missing and he's always fine."

What the hell was a Devil's Gate? Now probably wasn't the right time to ask.

"Not for this long." Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, Dean turned and looked back at Sam, his tone softening with genuine worry. Look at that, dude really did have feelings. Or at least pretended well, "Now, you gonna come with us or not?"

Us. Like she was a willing participant in this insanity. Sigh.

"I'm not." Looking down at his older brother, Sam stopped short, Skye almost running into him before taking a step back.

"Why not?" Petulant, seriously the only way to describe how Dean sounded right now. Bordering on whiny, like he hadn't really thought Sam might refuse. Or maybe she was being mildly uncharitable. ...nah.

"I swore I was done hunting for good." And he'd meant it. Dad had told him not to come back and he had no intention of doing so. What father in his right mind would be so ashamed of his kid getting a full ride to college? But then, his father hadn't been in his right mind for some twenty-odd years now.

"Come on. It wasn't easy, but it wasn't that bad."

"Yeah?" Talk about an understatement, and yeah, it really had been that bad. Following after Dean as he started walking again, Sam easily kept pace, "When I told Dad I was scared of the thing in my closet, he gave me a .45."

"Well," pausing at the entrance long enough to give Sam a long look and let Skye catch up, Dean raised a brow, "What was he supposed to do?"

It was evident that, as far as Dean was concerned, that had been the exact right response.

"I was 9-years-old." Looking at Dean, Sam slowly shook his head, astonished that he could think that was reasonable. He shouldn't be, Dean had never really been terribly level-headed.

"Seriously? Nine?" Okay, that was just messed up. She'd tried to keep quiet, not wanting to interrupt what should have been a private conversation between the two, but she just couldn't quite manage. Jesus. She'd thought her childhood was fucked, and it certainly had been, but it looked like Sam and Dean's was just as bad...in a different sort of way. Like the kids of those Doomsday preppers you saw on the Discovery channel, only worse.

Inhaling sharply as both men turned to look down at her as if they'd forgotten she existed, she managed to stop herself from taking a step back, "What? Don't look at me in that tone of voice. That is so beyond not normal."

"See?" Raising a hand and looking at Dean, Sam gestured to Skye as if she proved his point, "Even your friend agrees."

"Not my friend, and also not helping." Exasperated, Dean narrowed his eyes at Skye before turning his attention back to Sam, "What was he supposed to do?"

"He was supposed to say 'Don't be afraid of the dark'," Sam answered, as if that were the most obvious thing in the world. To some, it would have been.

"Yeah." Nodding agreement, mostly to pissed Dean off, Skye opened her big mouth again, "Gotta say, that's usually the way to go. You know, the answer any normal parent might give."

Not that she knew what a 'normal' parent would do. Her only exposure to normal had been Roseanne and Home Improvement.

"You stay outta this!" Rounding on her, Dean glared and took a step in her direction.

This time she couldn't stop herself from taking an involuntary step back, stumbling before Sam grabbed her arm. Giving him a strained smile, she gently shrugged off his hand. Dean, as per usual, didn't seem to notice as he resumed his little tirade.

"Are you kiddin' me?" He couldn't believe Sammy sometimes. Four years and he really hadn't changed a bit. Stubborn as ever. Granted, it was a family trait, "Of course you should be afraid of the dark. You  _know_  what's out there."

"Yeah. I know. But the way we were raised after Mom was killed? Dad's obsession with finding the thing that killed her?" Shaking his shaggy hair out of his eyes, Sam blew out a breath of hot air, as if taking a second to keep his temper, "But we still haven't found the damn thing, so we kill everything we  _can_  find."

"Saved a lot of people doin' it, too."

"You think Mom would have wanted this for us?" Scoffing, Sam managed to hit a nerve if Dean's reaction was anything to go by. Jaw tightening as he clenched his teeth, Dean slammed open the wrought iron that blocked their exist. Sam didn't slow down or so much as blink at the irritation on his brother's face. Circling around to stand face-to-face, he looked down at his older brother, "The weapons training and melting silver into bullets? Man, we were raised like warriors."

"So, what are you gonna do?" Dean could feel real anger bubbling under the surface and he didn't really want to take it out on Sam, but he couldn't keep it from seeping out and coloring his tone, arms spread and disbelief in his eyes, "You gonna live some normal apple-pie life, is that it?"

"No. Not normal." It was too late for that. Far too late, "Safe."

"That's why you ran away." It was Dean's turn to scoff as he jammed his hands into his jacket pockets, looking anywhere but at Sam, his gaze settling on Skye standing several feet away, her expression carefully neutral. Damn, the girl had a good poker face. If she hadn't been fiddling with her hair, he'd have never known how uncomfortable she was. ...Of course, looking at her didn't exactly help his temper any. Just the sight of her pissed him off for a wide variety of reasons, not all of which he wanted to acknowledge right this minute. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath before looking at Sammy again.

"I was just going to college, Dean." And you should have been proud of me. Of course, Sam would never voice that aloud, but even after all this time it still stung that Dean had sided with their father. The real reason he'd left and stayed gone, "It was Dad who said if I was going to go, I should stay gone. That's what I'm doing."

Or at least what he'd been trying to do, successfully up to this point.

"Yeah, well, Dad's in real trouble right now, if he's not dead already. I can feel it." Dean's bright green eyes flickered over Skye, unable to help glancing at her before looking back up at his little brother, "I can't do this alone."

Okay, so he hadn't been totally alone. Unfortunately.

Shifting her weight from foot-to-foot, Skye didn't try to hide her impatience, waiting for the boys to figure shit out so they could get on with it already. She'd been trapped in a black metal cage on wheels for entirely too long and she was cranky and restless. Okay, maybe that wasn't entirely why, and she had to admit, if only to herself, that she'd been taking part of that out on Dean. Of course, to be fair, it was kind of his fault. It didn't help matters any that he seemed incapable of treating her civilly.

He really had started it, dammit...though he'd strenuously deny that in the years to come.

"Yes, you can." It wasn't like Sam didn't know better. Dean was good at what he did, had always been better than Sam at the whole hunting thing. He didn't need Sam's help and they both knew it.

"Yeah, well...I don't want to." Besides if Sam didn't come along as a buffer between him and the girl...scratching the back of his neck, Dean shifted uncomfortably at the thought. He just really could not be alone with her any longer or he'd end up doing something he'd regret.

With a deep sigh, Sam's lips thinned as he looked at the pavement between his feet, taking a minute to think. Shit. Who was he kidding. The decision had been made the moment Dean had poked his nose into Sam's 'apple-pie' life. Looking back up at his brother, Sam tried not to sound resigned, "What was he hunting?"

"Come on," inclining his head toward the car parked at the curb, Dean bit back a grin, knowing there was no way Sam would say no now, "I'll show you."

With an equally deep sigh, Skye blew a strand of hair out of her eyes, following the boys to the car like a child trailing behind the big kids, hoping they'd notice and let her play their games.

Popping open the trunk, Dean didn't try to hide the smug smile that crossed his lips at Skye's gasp, the first time she'd gotten a good look at their mobile armory. It was fairly impressive, especially if you weren't used to that kind of thing.

Guns. Knives. Electronics. Things she couldn't name and had no idea what they could be for. Was she really one hundred percent sure Dean wasn't some kind of fucked up serial killer? Was she going to end up on the six o'clock news after her lifeless body was dumped in a random culvert somewhere? ...would it matter if she was? Serial killer or not, asshole or not, she was stuck with him until they could figure out how to get away from each other.

Fuck, let it be soon.

Rummaging around in the disorganized mess that seemed an accurate representation of the way his life was going right now, Dean muttered to himself as he tried to find whatever in the hell it was he was looking for, "Alright, let's see, where the hell did I put that thing?"

Edging closer, Skye took a hand out of her jeans pocket long enough to point to a bottle of clear liquid, "What's that?"

"Holy water." Smacking her hand before she could jerk it back, Dean answered, "Quit touchin' shit."

Narrowing her eyes, her expression quite clearly telling him to eat shit and die without any need for words, she walked around to stand on the other side of Sam, who automatically made room for her. She'd met the man all of five minutes ago and already liked him loads better than his older brother.

Tugging on the edge of Sam's sleeve like a kid getting their parent's attention in the grocery store, she pointed out a rather pretty gun...if firearms could be called 'pretty', "What's that?"

"It's a gun, Einstein." He knew full well what she meant, but it was more entertaining to pretend he didn't. Leaning over to smack at her hand again, Dean just ended up frustrated when he couldn't quite reach, "I told you to stop touchin' shit."

"Well duh it's a gun, you mouth-breather." Sparing a minute to wonder if she'd actually be able to reach his face to slug him, she decided it wasn't worth actually touching him to try, "But guns have makes and models, don't they?"

"It's a .45 caliber Colt M1911A1 with a standard 7-round magazine. It's Deans." Biting back a grin at their bickering, Sam answered as he shifted out of the way, pointing out a second piece of hardware, "That's a Taurus Model 92 9-millimeter with a standard 17-round magazine. That one's mine. Or was."

Crossing her arms, Skye gave Dean a smile sweet enough to make a Type-1 reach for their insulin.

Grinding his teeth again, Dean closed his eyes and counted to ten. Then counted to ten again. How anyone could look that cute while being such a complete bitch was a total mystery to him, "Go sit in the car, Skyler. Let the grownups talk."

"Go sit on a rusty spiked dildo, Dean." Tucking her hands in the pockets of her jeans, she bounced up onto her toes, sweet smile turning into a cheerful grin that was belied only by the irritation in her voice, "Stop bossin' me before I hop the next Greyhound outta here and kill us both. Death might be preferable to your bullshit."

Her eloquent turn of phrase startled a chuckle out of Sam, even eliciting a smile from Dean, though he quickly suppressed it. She was kind of adorable when she was aggravated, like a kitten hissing at a Doberman. ...or like Tinkerbell stamping her foot and giving Peter an attitude.

Latching onto the pertinent part of that sentence, Sam arched a brow and looked at her quizzically before turning his attention to Dean, "What the hell is she talking about?"

"I'll explain later, okay?" Muttering under his breath something rude and mostly unintelligible that contained the phrases 'harpy' and bite-size mini-bitch', Dean didn't even try to hide his annoyance, much to Skye's uncontained glee, "There are more important things right this now."

"Okay, sure." Not surprising Sam would be willing to table the discussion for now. Much as he and John didn't appear to get along, it was still his Dad missing and Skye was just a random and strongly antagonistic stranger, "So when Dad left, why didn't you go with him?"

"I was workin' my own case. This hoodoo thing down in New Orleans." God he wished he'd never stepped foot in that fucking city. That hoodoo bitch had screwed him ten ways to Sunday.

Wiggling her fingers at Sam, Skye wrinkled her nose and grinned, "That'd be how we met. Loathing at first sight."

...Not true on anyone's part, though an L word was involved, and no I don't mean love.

"Pipe down, Tinkerbell." Not bothering to look up as he spoke, Dean shuffled through the trunk again.

"Maybe if you were a little more organized, it wouldn't take you three weeks to find whatever in the fuck you're lookin' for." Leaning her arms against the side of the trunk, Skye watched him hunt through the different bits of weaponry, "Wait. I should use small words. Clean more, find shit."

With a supreme effort of will, Dean managed to ignore her, at least outwardly. Well, other than the vein throbbing in his temple that was a dead giveaway that she was really starting to get under his skin.

Good.

"You met on a case?" Bemused, Sam looked from one to the other, "But you're definitely not in the business, Skye. It is Skye, right?"

"Yes. Yes, it is, thank you." Pleased, she gave Sam something approaching a genuine smile, "Your bonehead brother seems to have his head stuck too far up his own ass to hear that it is, indeed, just Skye. And no, to answer your question, I'm not in the business if by business you mean hunting the Bogeyman. I'm not even on the same block as that business and I'm not yet convinced that you're not both batshit crazy. No offense, Sam."

"None taken. It is crazy. I mean, it's definitely a thing, but it is crazy." Looking back at Dean, Sam turned the topic back to what they'd been discussing. Well, more or less, "Dad let you go on a hunting trip by yourself?"

"Dude, I'm 26." Looking way more offended by that than by Skye's calling him batshit, Dean flipped Sam off before finally finding what he'd been looking for. Holding up a file folder with a short stack of papers inside, he pulled out a printed copy of a newspaper clipping and handed it to Sam, "Dad was checkin' out this two-lane blacktop just outside of Jericho, California. About a month ago this guy disappeared. They found his car, but he'd vanished. Completely MIA."

Taking the page, Sam barely glanced at it, more interested in what Dean had to say than reading the article in his hand. Skye, on the other hand, much preferred her information in written form and took the sheet when Sam offered it to her, giving him a smile that instantly turned into a look that could curdle milk when Dean snatched it back out of her hands.

Leaning against the car with his arms crossed, Sam eyed his brother. Sure Dean could be a dick, but he was being uncharacteristically hostile, especially to an attractive female of legal age. ...wait. Jesus. She was of legal age, right? Man, he hoped so. She did look to be on the young side...and now he was afraid to ask. Shrugging a shoulder while still pondering the problem, Sam made a suggestion, "Maybe he was kidnapped."

"Maybe." Shaking his head, Dean waved the stack of papers in his hand, "...except here's another one in April. One in December. '04, '03, '98, '92. ...Ten of 'em over the past twenty years. All men, all on the same 5-mile stretch of road."

As if he'd be looking into a run of the mill kidnapping case. Please. He did know how to do his job.

In spite of herself, Skye was curious about the supposed 'job', and she'd never been one to deny her curiosity for long. She could also move pretty damn quick when she wanted to, as she demonstrated when she stepped around Sam and snagged the folder out of Dean's hand before he could react, jumping back just out of reach when he made a grab for her.

"Hey, what the hell you fuckin' Oompa Loompa." Damn, she was quick for having such short little legs, "Give that back."

Acknowledging the insult more by reflex than anything, she read through the newspaper articles, replying with an automatic, "Bite me, asshole."

"Did you just call her an Oompa Loompa?" Snickering, Sam shook his head, "Dude. Lame."

Yeah, okay, but kind of hilarious.

"As I was saying before being so rudely interrupted by that mouthy fuckin' Hobbit…" Gritting his teeth, Dean turned his back on Skye to look up at Sam, fear lurking behind those stupidly green eyes, "It started happening more and more, so Dad went to go dig around. That was about three weeks ago. I hadn't heard from him since, which is bad enough, then yesterday I get this voicemail."

Pulling out a mini-cassette player from one of his many pockets, he held it up for Sam to listen, ignoring Skye completely when she moved to stand between the two men. Tossing the file folder back into the trunk, she leaned over, invading Dean's personal space and ignoring her own. Pushing play, Dean tried not to twitch when she got a little too close for comfort, close enough to smell her shampoo. Or perfume. Or whatever the fuck it was that had invaded every square inch of his fucking car. Unfortunately for him, she smelled damn good.

The hiss of static drew his attention back to the recorder and off of the mouthy midget, a man's voice issuing from the tinny speaker.

Heavily distorted, it was difficult to make out what was said, " _Dean, something is starting to happen. I think it's serious. I need to figure out what's going on."_

The static increased, muffling John's voice, making it next to impossible to hear every word, " _Be very careful, Dean. We're all in danger."_

Well, that was comforting.

Leaning forward, Sam spoke as soon as Dean clicked off the recorder, "You know there's EVP on that?"

"Not bad, Sammy." Smiling, Dean seemed proud, "Kinda like ridin' a bike, isn't it."

Standing close enough to Dean to violate her own boundaries, Skye looked up at him, no trace of snark or sass in her tone, "What's EVP?"

"Electronic Voice Phenomenon." Looking down at her, he answered without thinking, no trace of hostility in his voice as he gestured with the tape recorder, "Sometimes you can hear a spirit speaking when you play back a recording. There's a voice on here, once you clean it up. I slowed down the message and ran it through a GoldWave-"

Tilting her head, Skye looked at Dean quizzically, needing clarification, "GoldWave?"

"GoldWave is audio recording and playback tech, used by a lot of ghost hunters." Dean forgot himself for a moment and smiled down at her, charming even when he wasn't trying to be, those gorgeous eyes warm and inviting, "Sometimes they get lucky and actually catch real EVP, but mostly not so much. God forbid they ever actually run into a real live ghost."

"If it was real live, then it wouldn't be a ghost." Surprisingly, Skye actually seemed to be teasing him.

Silently watching the other two, Sam was caught off guard by their exchange, the entire tone of it the exact opposite as every other word he'd heard the two speak to each other...and he didn't think he'd ever seen Dean smile quite like that at anyone before. As if…

Oh.

_Oh._

Well, that explained that.

He managed to keep himself from facepalming, but only just. He'd always known his older brother had the emotional maturity of a 12-year-old but Jesus…

"I ran it through the GoldWave, took out the hiss, and this is what I got." Pushing play on the recorder, Dean held it up for Skye and Sammy to hear, a female voice clearly audible.

"... _I can never go home…"_

Pushing his brother's deep emotional issues to the back burner for now, Sam looked thoughtful, echoing the woman's words as he pondered what she could mean, "Never go home."

"You know...that's fuckin' creepy." With a shiver, Skye stepped back into her personal bubble, "I mean, you guys seem to find this straight mundane so I just wanna point out that it is, in fact, horribly abnormal."

"Yeah. Sorry." Chuckling, Sam ran a hand through his hair, giving Skye an apologetic shrug, "You'll get used to it."

Grabbing the edge of the trunk link, Dean closed it gently before turning to Sam,  
"You know, in almost four years, I've never bothered you. Never asked you for a thing."

He must have picked up the phone a hundred times, but he'd never dialed. In spite of what Sam may have thought, Dean had never sided with their father, he'd only ever tried to keep the peace. He'd tried to give Sam a shot at a normal life, but dammit, he needed him right now. If only for a little while. If only until he figured shit out.

Sighing, Sam looked away, not wanting to meet his brother's eyes as Skye stepped away to give the boys some small amount of privacy.

Perching on the trunk of the Impala, Dean sat with his hands gripping the metal a little harder than his casual stance would suggest, silently watching his brother and waiting for him to make up his mind. He was pretty confident what Sam's answer would be, but there was that little niggling doubt.

Taking a deep breath, Sam stood, watching Dean thoughtfully for a long moment. Watching how Dean turned toward Skye without realizing he did it, always keeping her in sight, posture oriented toward her without any kind of conscious thought.

Saw how he looked at the girl when the girl wasn't looking.

_Shit._

Dean didn't need Sam to help find Dad, not really, but Sam had no doubt that he did need Sam's company, "Alright. I'll go, but I have to get back first thing Monday. Just...wait here."

Turning, he walked back toward his apartment, part of him hoping Dean wouldn't ask the obvious. No dice.

"What's Monday?"

Half turning, arms at his side, Sam looked almost defeated, "I have an interview."

"What, a job interview?" Dean couldn't think of any job that couldn't be put off awhile. Sammy really needed to get his priorities straightened out, "Skip it."

"It's a law school interview," he explained as if to a grade-schooler, "It's my whole future on a plate."

"Law school? Rock on. You take your LSATs yet?," Skye smiled at Sam's affirmative nod, "What'd you get?"

No matter how hard he tried to be humble about it, Sam couldn't help the note of pride in his voice as he answered, "174."

"Holy shit, dude," She seemed suitably impressed, "I figured you were the smart one, but  _damn_."

Without taking his eyes off Sammy, Dean pointed at her, "You. Zip it."

Mocking him, she pointed a finger back, "You. Bite me."

Inclining his head in her direction, Sam wondered how exactly she knew what an LSAT was. Most people didn't, and they certainly didn't know that 174 was 'scary good' as Jess had said on more than one occasion.

"Thanks," he smiled before looking back at Dean, "So we got a deal or not?"

Jaw tight, lips pressed into a thin line, Dean hesitated for a long moment before nodding his assent. Taking the agreement, even so reluctantly given, Sam quickly retreated into his apartment building to get his things.

Ambling closer to the car, Skye turned and leaned back against it, her arms crossed over her chest as the chill of the night air tried to get the better of her, keeping just out of easy reach of Dean out of long habit.

Standing in a similar position, Dean couldn't help but ask, his own curiosity eating at him, "Is 174 good?"

"174 is full ride, Harvard kinda good," she grinned, turning her head to look up at him, "A perfect score is 180 and only, like, a tenth of a percent score perfect. 174 is damned impressive."

Dean whistled, "Okay, that is good. ...how the fuck do you know that?"

"Honestly?," she stuffed her hands in her pockets, shrugging a slim shoulder, "I watched Legally Blonde and got curious. Ended up spending like two days readin' up on that kinda thing."

Her answer startled a bark of laughter out of him, "That's-that's ridiculous."

"Yeah well…," her expression turned sour, rolling her eyes as their short-lived truce disappeared, "Fuck off."

Shaking a loose strand of hair out of her eyes, she looked up at the sky and prayed for patience to whatever gods might be listening, "Are we gonna stop and grab somethin' to eat at some point? Maybe some sleep? You've gotta be exhausted."

"Why Skyler…," he looked at her sideways, his tone mocking, "I didn't know you cared so much about my well-being"

"Oh I don't, but you're driving. It's been proven that driving tired is as bad as driving under the influence," she absently patted the car, "I don't particularly wanna die today, choking on my own blood in a twisted heap of smoking metal," she smiled brightly, "Do you?"

It almost seemed like she was hoping he'd say yes so she could help him with that.

Shaking his head, he straightened and moved around to the driver's side door, stopping close enough in front of Skye for his jacket to brush against her bare arm, that boyishly charming smile on his damn near perfect lips, "Don't worry, kid. I'm much more likely to kill you on purpose than for you to die in any smoldering wreckage."

Yanking open the door, Dean climbed into the driver's seat, leaving Skye to make faces at his back before she opened the door to the backseat and got in, sliding over to sit in the middle.

Leaning forward, she crossed her arms on the back of the front seat, resting her chin on her arm. Tilting her head to watch her reluctant companion, she asked, "So you said your Mom died when you were four. So...that means what, you've been doin' this crazy shit since then?"

He didn't remember saying any such thing, but he'd rambled on about a lot of shit the last few days. If he were talking, it was easier not to think too much and thinking too much right now might put him in a world of hurt.

Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back, "I don't wanna talk about it."

"And I don't wanna be here," she snapped at him, her otherwise pleasant voice sharp, the brief moment of humanity earlier long gone and mostly forgotten, "Suck it up and deal."

"I said I-," he cut himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He turned to sit sideways, laying an arm along the back of the seat to face her before answering, "Fuck it. Yeah, I was four and Sammy was six months."

She rubbed her chin on her arm, reaching up to tug absently on the end of her braid, watching him with thoughtful eyes, "How'd she die?"

He was quiet for a long moment, long enough that it surprised her when he actually answered, "You're really fuckin' nosy, you know that?"

There was no real heat in his words, just a rather rude statement of fact.

"She-," he hesitated, knowing how crazy it sounded, "She burned to death plastered to the ceiling of Sammy's nursery. The thing-the monster that killed her stuck her there and set her on fire. Dad stuck Sammy in my arms and ordered me to take him out the front door. He's...he's kinda been my responsibility ever since."

Over two decades later and it was still as painful to talk about as it had ever been.

Without thinking, Skye reached out to him, laying a hand on his arm, "I'm sorry."

It actually sounded like she meant it, too.

He found her oddly comforting, a perceptible air of solace and empathy surrounding her so strong you could almost see it, which was downright odd as she was not what he would have considered a calming presence.

Just the opposite, actually. She riled him up and made his heart race in ways that were uncomfortable for him to contemplate. It probably wouldn't have helped matters any if he'd known he had the same effect on her.

Whatever it was about her, that aura wasn't what one would call normal.

Dean registered that fact, knew it was weird and dismissed it just as quickly. He knew she was human, he'd tested that himself, and beyond that...he just couldn't quite bring himself to care. He had enough to worry about without concerning himself over one little girl with one abnormal quality, and a harmless one at that.

"Thanks," he almost smiled before remembering himself, shaking his head as he looked at her, "Why am I even telling you this? You're shrill and bitchy and I don't like you."

"I'll admit to bitchy, but I am not shrill and I don't like you either," she snatched her hand back as she realized she was still touching him, "You're full of yourself and have your head so far up your own ass you can give yourself a colonoscopy. But you're also stuck with me for the time being."

Whatever reply he may have made was lost when Sam opened the passenger door, folding his bulk into the seat and tossing his bag into the floorboard, "Alright, let's go."

"Don't gotta tell me twice," Dean started the car and pulled away from the curb, pointing the hood toward Jericho.

He made a move to turn on the radio, causing Skye to speak up from the backseat, "Don't even think about it. If I have to listen to the Best of Journey for the entire drive, it's a toss-up between whether I'll pull a Kurt Cobain or smother you in your sleep."

"Okay, on that note," Sam turned in his seat, looking back at Skye, "It's like a three-hour drive-"

"So, like, twenty minutes the way Dean drives," she interjected, earning a chuckle from Sam.

"Yeah, no joke. Still, long enough for you two to tell me how the hell you ended up together," He laid his arm on the back of the seat, "I mean, no offense or anything Skye but you don't seem like Dean's type and besides, you two kind of seem to hate each other."

Seem to. Ha.

"My type?," Glancing at Sammy, one hand on the wheel as the Impala barreled through the darkness at well over legal speeds, Dean looked a little offended, "What's my type?"

"Cheap. Easy. Desperate," Skye shifted in the backseat, scooting over to sit with her back against the driver's side door, legs stretched out on the seat in front of her, "I'm imagining lots of plastic and bad dye jobs."

"So you met one of his one-night stands, I take it," Sam gave her a conspiratorial wink, ignoring Dean's wordless noise of protest, "Alright, seriously, how did you end up riding around the country with my brother?"

"I saved his life," she leaned her head back against the cold glass, turning her eyes skyward, "In return, I got cursed with his presence for the foreseeable future. I'm not sure what kind of karma I got from a past life, but I musta done somethin' truly horrendous to earn this shit."

"You probably just opened your mouth and your personality popped out," Dean glanced in the rearview, catching a glimpse of his very reluctant companion, "That's more than enough for a few hundred years bad karma. ...and you did not save my life."

"Words hurt, Dean," She mimed grasping an invisible arrow and pulling it out of her chest, "I'm wounded on a deep spiritual level."

Yeah. Uh huh. Sure she was.

"So anyway, I saved his life. Hoodoo or voodoo or whatever the fuck priestess witch bitch threw his ass into a wall at, like, forty miles an hour. Didn't lay a hand on him, just poof and he went flyin'." Rolling her eyes, Skye pulled a leg up and rested her hand on her knee as the deep rumble of the engine filled the small space, "I happened to be walkin' by at exactly the wrong time and saw it. Lucky fuckin' me. I must not a been thinkin' too clearly 'cause I picked up a brick and smacked her in the back of the head with the damn thing. In retrospect, not the best decision I ever made."

"You...based her in the head with a brick?" That wasn't the least bit ridiculous at all. Looking over at Dean before shifting his attention right back to Skye, Sam's expression was half-amused and half-concerned, "Okay. Still, don't see how that stuck you with him."

"She distracted the bitch long enough for me to go after her, right?" Sighing, Dean decided to add his two cents to the story, "So I killed her, only I didn't kill the skank fast enough and she laid a death curse on us."

"A death curse." Sam sucked in a breath, whistling, "That's some pretty heavy mojo. What exactly did she curse you with?"

"Each other's presence," She lifted a hand to the sky as if pleading for patience, "Literally 'til death do us part'. I'm stuck with the cretin until one of us fuckin' dies, apparently. I've considered killin' him to find out but he's a light sleeper and the opportunity hasn't arisen yet."

"Almost didn't figure it out in time. From what I can tell-," Skye cleared her throat from the backseat at Dean's choice of words, "Okay, from what  _we_  can tell, we have to remain within about thirty miles of each other or we start to suffer the consequences."

"Consequences," Sam leaned back against the passenger side door, bemused, "What kind of consequences?"

"Dizziness, fatigue, heart palpitations-," Skye answered

Dean added to the list, "-shortness of breath, nausea-"

"Vomiting up blood and internal organs, death," Skye finished, "You know, the usual."

She may have sounded pretty blase about it, her expression carefully blank, but the reality was exactly the opposite. She'd learned a long time ago not to show fear and this curse thing terrified her. She really didn't want to be stuck riding around in this car with these people for the next who-knew-how-many years...right?

Her eyes drifted to the rearview mirror, briefly meeting Dean's before they both looked away.

"I'm gonna try and get some zzz's as your brother doesn't seem to believe in beds," Sliding down in her seat, she closed her eyes, "Wake me if food becomes a thing that exists."

"Sleep good, I guess."

"Thanks, Sam."

One advantage of being as small as she was, she could curl up completely on the bench seat of a '67 Chevy Impala and be fairly comfortable. She snagged her bag off the floorboard in front of her, a leather knapsack she'd had for ages that contained everything she owned in the world, tucking it under her head as a makeshift pillow before wrapping her arms around herself. She really needed to figure out how to get a jacket, maybe some clothes besides the few things in her bag. It wasn't much and none of it was in good shape or at all suited to cooler weather.

Unfortunately, she had about sixty bucks to her name and no way to get more. Not exactly enough money to live on for longer than another day or two. She really didn't know what she was going to do after that.

She drifted off to these uncomfortable thoughts and the voices of the boys engaged in occasional small talk. They really didn't say much of anything, or nothing important anyway, things seeming a little strained between them.

The click of the radio and Bon Jovi's 'You Give Love A Bad Name' finally chased her all the way down into the depths of sleep.

* * *

Waiting until he was sure Skye was deep enough asleep that she wouldn't hear their conversation, Sam got Dean's attention by the simple expedient of turning down the radio.

"Okay man, what's the real deal on Short Stuff back there?," he jerked his head toward the backseat, as if there could be any mistaking who he meant.

"What, Skye?," Dean looked in the rearview but couldn't quite see her lying down in the backseat, "She out?"

"No, the Pillsbury Dough Boy, and yes she's out."

That was all the confirmation Dean needed to go off, "She's a stubborn, smart-assed, sarcastic, loud bitchy midget with a mouth like an angry drunken sailor that doesn't listen to a goddamned thing."

"So," Sam bit back a laugh, figuring it might not be the most politic thing right now, "You're telling me she's you, just cuter and with boobs."

The muscle in Dean's jaw twitched as he gave Sammy a look that was the very epitome of 'If looks could kill', "Not funny."

"No. No that was pretty funny," He disagreed, smirking, "So what are you going to do next, pull her pigtails and push her down on the playground?"

Giving him a sidelong look, it was clear Dean was not at all amused, "What the hell are you on about?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Dean," Sammy crossed his arms, legs stretched out as much as he could in the cramped confines of the car, "I know you better than anyone and you know exactly what I'm on about."

Gripping the steering wheel hard enough to whiten his knuckles, Dean kept his voice as level as possible, "Don't be ridiculous, Sammy, she's just a kid."

Words may say one thing, but body language was clearly stating another.

"She's legal, yeah?"

"Of course she is, you think I'm transporting a minor across state lines?," Dean growled, "I may be a lot of things, Sammy, a kidnapper ain't one of 'em."

"I figured," he drummed his fingers against a denim-clad leg, letting the silence stretch out between them until he just couldn't resist anymore, "So is it just a crush or is it LoOoOove?," The last word said in the kind of obnoxious sing-song falsetto only an asshole little brother could manage.

Leaning over and slugging him hard on the shoulder before reaching over and turning the radio back on, Dean growled, "Dude, I'm not talkin' to you anymore."

The ever impressive musical stylings of 'Don't Stand So Close To Me' by The Police drowned out anything else Sam may have had to say, though it did nothing to hide the sight of him laughing.

Fucks sake, even the radio was giving him grief.


	3. Chapter 2

Waking all at once, a survival habit she'd had since childhood, she kept her eyes closed feigning sleep until she remembered where she was. The backseat of a classic car with a couple of potential psychopaths. Well, maybe just one. Jolly Green seemed alright. From the sounds around her and the unpleasant smell of gasoline, she figured they were at a gas station. A reasonable conclusion, Sherlock. Opening her eyes, she sighed, blinking rapidly as they adjusted to the light. It couldn't be much past dawn but the sun was shining full and bright, promising to be a disgustingly nice morning.

"Mornin', Sam." Rolling over, she sat up, clasping her hands behind her back and stretching them behind her.

"Morning, Briar Rose." He looked up, glancing at her in the rearview, "Sleep good?"

"Sleeping Beauty, my ass. I suppose I slept as good as one can while stuck in the backseat of a car." Smiling she turned her to survey the area around the car, "Dick...whoops, I mean  _Dean_ , inside?"

Sam was pleasantly surprised that she'd gotten the 'Briar Rose' reference. A simple thing, sure, but not many people picked up on the little things that he tended to throw out. He'd had to explain himself more than once and he'd been fully prepared to do so now. It was amazing how many people didn't know simple fairy tales.

"Yup. Bathroom, food, and fuel. You need any of those, you should grab them now before he gets back."

"Right. Great. Good advice." Sliding over, she opened the backdoor and stepped out, letting it fall closed behind her. Gravel crunched under her grubby sneakers as she made her way around the building. It didn't take long to find the bathroom and take care of business, and she did a reasonable job of ignoring her intense longing for a hot shower.

That didn't seem to be in the cards this morning. Or yesterday morning. Tomorrow wasn't looking good either. Settling for splashing water on her face, she released her hair from its customary braid and brushed it out with her fingers before deftly rebraiding it. Stepping outside, she headed around the corner toward the front door of the rundown little gas station/garage. Reaching the entrance just as Dean stepped out, she nearly ran into him before he rather unceremoniously shoved a plastic bag into her arms, "Here. Food."

"Thanks?" Stumbling back half a step, she clutched the sack to her chest before it could fall.

She didn't know if he was ignoring her or simply hadn't heard, not that it made much difference either way. Moving out of the doorway, she walked back to the car, rifling through the contents of the bag. Slim Jims. Dr. Pepper. Funyuns. Raisinets. Tootsie Pops. Juicy Fruit. Gas station snacks. Her favorite gas station snacks, in fact. Huh, how about that. Setting the sack down on the trunk, she hopped up next to it, sitting cross-legged with her elbows on her knees.

Dean stepped around the back of the car, poking his head around the side to talk to Sam, gesturing with the packages in his hands. Chips, soda, jerky. Breakfast of champions, "Hey, you want breakfast?"

"No thanks." Looking back, Sam shook his head, sitting sideways in the seat with the passenger door open, long legs stretched out in front of him. Leaning out further as Dean went over to the gas pumps, Sam had to ask, "So how did you pay for that stuff? You and Dad still running credit card scams?"

Now that was something Skye hadn't considered. Killing monsters probably didn't pay too well. Or at all. Glancing at the bag of food she'd set on the trunk, she felt a pang of guilt that she quickly shoved away. It was just a little food. If someone was pre-approved for a credit card or whatever, then they could probably afford to pay a few bucks for convenience store snacks. At least, that's what she was going to tell herself. Besides, it wasn't like she hadn't ever done similar to keep fed.

"Yeah well, huntin' ain't exactly a pro-ball career. Besides, all we do is apply. They send us the cards." Shrugging, Dean set the gas to pumping. It didn't take long before it shut off and he reached down to get the nozzle, replacing it at the pump. Finally looking up at Skye, unable to ignore her watchful gaze anymore, Dean snapped, looking briefly regretful when it came out sharper than he'd intended, " _What?_ "

"Thank you." Paying no heed to his tone, she gestured to the sack'o'snacks lying next to her, "How'd you know?"

A ghost of a smile curved one corner of his mouth, "I have eyes that work."

"Well, yeah. Obviously." Making a face, she wrinkled her nose at him, "I just didn't think you paid that much attention. Or, you know, cared."

"Oh, I don't." Gesturing for her to hop down, he offered her a hand, not that she really needed it, "Care, that is, but I do pay attention. It's kinda my job."

Glancing at the hand he offered, she shook her head, sliding down on her own. Opening the back door for her, he watched her grab her bag of food and climb in, waiting to make sure she was clear before closing it behind her and taking his place behind the wheel.

* * *

Waiting until Dean started the car, Sam continued the conversation, "What names did you write on the application this time?"

"Uh, Burt Aframian and his son, Hector." Dropping a bottle of Coke and a bag of generic no-name hot fries onto the seat next to him, he shifted the Impala into gear, "Scored two cards out of the deal."

Torn between amusement and exasperation, Sam shook his head, "Sounds about right."

While Dean had been pumping gas and Skye had been making eyes at Dean, Sam had been ransacking the cardboard box Dean kept in the passenger side floorboard. He held up a white cassette tape that Skye recognized as Kansas. She should, she'd heard it twelve times in the last week, "I swear, man, you have got to update your cassette tape collection."

"What?" Dean was genuinely puzzled as to why he could possibly need to update his musical tastes, "Why?"

"Because they're cassette tapes, Grandpa Moses." Leaning forward, one arm resting across the back of the seat, Skye snorted, "It's not 1988 anymore, get with the times."

"Right?" Sam turned, raising a hand for an amicable fist-bump, which she hesitantly returned before he reached back into the box. Pulling out one tape after another, he dropped them into his brother's lap, "Black Sabbath? Motorhead? Metallica? It's the greatest hits of mullet rock."

Laughing softly, Skye sat back in her seat. Crossing her legs, she dipped a hand into the plastic bag Dean had pressed on her, fishing out a Slim Jim and a bottle of Dr. Pepper.

"Well, you know Sammy, house rules. Driver picks the music and shotgun-" Dean waved them both off, glancing over his shoulder at Skye, "

Dean waved them both off, "Well you know, Sammy, house rules. Driver picks the music and shotgun," he looked over his shoulder at Skye, "- _and_  backseat, shut their damn cake holes."

"Isn't it pie-hole?" Taking a minute to peel open the stick of pseudo-meat, Skye finally piped up, "Shouldn't it be 'shotgun shuts his', -or her because let's not be sexist, 'pie-hole'?"

"Okay, Sammy and Skyler shut their collective pie-holes." He slipped a cassette into the player on the dash, tossing the other tapes back in the box Sam had gotten them out of.

Tossing the box back into the floorboard, Sam spoke up, "Sammy is a chubby 12-year-old. It's Sam, okay?"

Making a wordless noise of agreement, Skye sympathized. After all, Dean had refused to call her anything but Skyler since they'd met. She was feeling Sam's pain on this one and offered him a little silent commiseration.

"Sorry, can't hear you." Pushing play on whatever tape he'd deemed fit for the moment, Dean turned up the volume and smiled,'You Really Got Me' by Van Halen blared from the speaker as he pulled the car out onto the highway, ignoring Sammy's sidelong look at his music choice. "Music's too loud."

* * *

Skye had to admit, if only to herself of course, that his taste in music wasn't all that bad. Nothing wrong with classic rock. Some of it was even good. Maybe not this particular selection, but some of it.

Leaning forward, she tapped the seat next to Sam to get his attention over the deafening volume of Dean's current choice. Gesturing to the box of tapes at his feet, she managed to silently convey her request that he hand it over. She already knew most of what was in it, but she wanted to look again so she could pester Dean to put in something that wasn't totally awful. Reclining back against her seat, she rummaged through it as the Impala sped down the road, only about half an hour outside of Jericho now.

Dean really did drive way too fast. It was a wonder he hadn't gotten pulled over once in the short time she'd known him. He almost seemed to have a sixth sense for when a cop was about to show, invariably slowing down right before one appeared over the horizon. Picking out a tape, she scooted forward and tapped Sam on the shoulder with the cassette, gesturing to the dash as 'You Really Got Me' ended.

Grinning, he reached over and ejected the tape Dean had put in, much to Dean's protest, "Hey! Dammit, house rules! What are you puttin' in?"

"Thanks, Sam. Wait and see, Mr. Impatient." She leaned back, arms crossed, a smug little smile on her lips. She met his eyes in the mirror as he muttered something to himself she didn't quite catch. Whatever it was, it was guaranteed to be insulting." Besides, they're all your tapes. It's not like you don't know you're gonna like whatever it is, right?"

Looking out his window, Dean tried to keep the smile off his face as he listened to her sing along. He had to admit, if only to himself, that she had a pretty decent voice. It wouldn't win any awards, but he kind of liked it.

Sam had to resist the urge to knock his head against the dashboard as the song switched over. Apparently, he was surrounded by emotionally stunted children that could only communicate reasonably through song lyrics. It wasn't at all hard to read between the lines here. Hell, the lines were neon red and three miles apart. Waiting until the song finished, he switched off the radio and pulled out his phone, placing calls to the local hospital and the morgue to see if John had shown up anywhere.

* * *

"Alright, so there's no one matching Dad at the hospital or the morgue, so that's something I guess." Flipping his phone shut when he'd finished, he tucked it back into his jacket pocket, relief and disappointment warring briefly in his adorable hazel eyes. At least if John had been one of those places, the mystery would be over and they'd know for sure.

"Check it out." Rounding a curve in the road ahead, Dean slowed down, pointing out the bridge as it came into view on their left. The thing was positively swarming with law enforcement. Glancing up into the rearview, he cursed under his breath, "Skyler, duck down and stay outta sight for a minute."

"Whatever happened to please? ...but I'll do it on once condition, don't call me Skyler anymore and I'll be good as gold for a whole half hour. Scouts honor." Lifting a brow, she met his eyes in the mirror and smiled, only taking about half a second to think about whether or not to cooperate. Holding up her right hand, she touched thumb to pinky and held up three fingers "Oh, and you have to say please."

"If you were a Boy Scout, I'm Mary, Queen of Scots."

"So obviously I wasn't a Boy Scout, Sam." Skye wrinkled her nose at him and mock-bowed from her spot in the backseat, "The deal still stands, Your Majesty. And I must say, you look great considerin' you been dead for the last four hundred years or so."

Scowling, Dean narrowed his eyes at Sam and Skye's banter. Really though, even he had to agree it was a small price to pay for her to behave herself for any length of time.

"Fine. Deal. Duck."

"You didn't say please."

"That's two conditions, not one."

"You didn't. Say. Please."

You could hear the word being pulled reluctantly out of Dean's mouth, "...please."

No sooner had the word left his mouth than she was sliding down, folding herself into the floorboard. No way she'd be visible from the outside unless someone was right up against the window looking in, "Now that wasn't so hard, was it."

As soon as she'd done as instructed, he pulled over onto the shoulder across from the bridge and cut the engine.

Shifting around, she managed to keep herself from looking out the windows. She really wanted to peek, but she always kept her promises. Sighing, she listened to the boys in the front seat. The sound of the glove box opening and one of them sifting through the contents, Dean most likely from the rustle of fabric and the sound of movement from the driver's seat.

Sitting with her back against the back of the front seat, her legs crossed, she laid her head on the backseat. It was probably a good thing she was small and flexible or this would get old real damn quick.

Speaking up from her spot directly behind Sam, she asked, "Can I ask what you're doin' or does cooperating include not talking?"

"Can it include not talking? Is it too late to amend the deal?" She could hear the smirk in Dean's voice even if she couldn't see it, his hand appearing over the back of the seat with a law enforcement ID and a shiny badge, "We're gonna go ask some questions, see what we can find out."

"Should have thought about that before, too late now." She was getting better at not sounding astonished at anything he said, "You're gonna fake bein' the law? What did that even say, 'Federal Marshal'? You really are quite the little felon. They fall for that?"

"Except for the little part, yeah," Dean laughed, "The credit card fraud didn't give it away? Besides, I have straight up told you that I was a felon but you don't listen too good." Or at all. Ever.

"Try sayin' somethin' worth listenin' to," she retorted, unable to help herself.

Sam spoke up, interrupting before they could start squabbling. Again. "People fall for it all the time, Skye. If you act like you know exactly what you're doing and you're supposed to be wherever you are, most people won't question it. Even law enforcement...most of the time anyway."

"Let's go, Sammy." Dean swung open the driver's side door, "Stay put, Tinkerbell, we'll be back shortly."

Pressing her lips together, the muscle in her jaw twitching for a second before she forced herself to relax. Hey, Tinkerbell was an improvement over Skyler. She'd take what she could get at this point. She did, however, spend the next several minutes coming up with nicknames for both of the boys, Dean's being considerably less than flattering.


	4. Chapter 3

Stepping out of the car, Sam joined Dean, a grin creeping across his lips. He couldn't resist teasing his brother, even if it meant he might get hit again. Worth it.

"You know, you've got some interesting song choices lately."

Dean's nostrils flared as he pointed out to himself that brutally murdering Sammy in front of a dozen of Jericho's finest would be a fantastically bad idea, "Knock it off, Sammy. You're just...wrong."

"You lying to me or yourself, Dean?" Sam smiled cheerfully, noting that both was also an option.

The two fell into step beside each other as they headed across the road to observe the scene they'd stumbled upon. The voices of several officers drifted back, though they couldn't make out much of what was said.

Stopping behind the car that was sitting skewed in the middle of the bridge, Dean eavesdropped on the officers crawling in the vehicle like ants. One mentioned the scene being 'too clean' before the second one asked about the guy's daughter. Seemed the cop's kid was dating the missing man. Now that was potentially useful information that he could file away for later. Speaking up as Sammy moved up behind him, Dean asked, already knowing the answer, "You fellas had another one like this just last month, didn't you?"

An African American gentleman in a tan County Sheriff's uniform straightened, turning to face Dean, the badge on his chest reading 'Franks', "And who are you?"

Stepping toward the boys with a hand hovering near the grip of the firearm at his hip, he didn't seem too pleased to see them.

Sam stepped closer to Dean as Dean flashed his badge, "Federal Marshals."

"You two are a little young for Marshals, aren't you?," Officer Franks skepticism was obvious in both voice and demeanor.

"Thanks, that's awfully kind of you." Chuckling, Dean smiled as if he'd been complimented before walking away from the Officer. Looking around the scene, his voice drifting back over his shoulder, his tone shifting, growing impatient. Dammit, he just wanted the man to give them the information they needed so they could get the hell out of there. He might play a LEO on TV, but that didn't mean he was at all comfortable around them. Kind of hard to be knowing he'd be arrested if he were found impersonating an officer. not to mention what would happen if they searched his car, "But you did have another one just like this, correct?"

Nodding, Franks turned to keep Dean in sight, "Yeah, that's right, about a mile up the road. There've been others before that."

"So this victim," Sam spoke up, looking over at the Officer, "You knew him?"

Nodding an affirmative, Franks pointed out, "A town like this, everybody knows everybody."

Calling over from the other side of the car, Dean pitched his voice to carry as he moved slowly around it, "Any connection between the victims, besides that they're all men?"

He hadn't been able to find one so far, maybe the cops had better luck. Doubtful, but possible.

Shaking his head, Franks admitted defeat on that front, obviously frustrated, "Not so far as we can tell, no."

Damn. Ah well.

Letting his eyes wander over the vehicle as he walked around it, Sam asked, "So you got a theory?"

This should be good.

"Serial murderer? Kidnapping ring?," Franks sighed, tilting his hat back and rubbing a spot on his forehead like he was developing a headache, "Hell, we just don't know."

Even on his best day, Dean was less than prudent and obviously unimpressed, "Well that is exactly the kind of crack police word I'd expect outta you guys."

Stepping hard on Dean's booted foot as unobtrusively as possible, Sam smiled at Franks. It seemed his older brother hadn't installed a filter on his mouth any time in the four years he'd been gone.

Clearing his throat, Dean tried not to wince in pain but didn't look the least bit apologetic for popping off with the not-so-subtle insult.

Addressing the officers and wanting to get Dean out of there before he made trouble they couldn't afford, Sam nodded farewell, "Well, thanks for your time, gentleman."

The boys walked quickly back toward the car, the Sheriff looking on with a puzzled and mildly offended expression on his face.

Dean sniffed, rubbing his nose as Sammy shook his head, muttering to himself. The second they were a reasonable distance from the officers behind them, Dean reached up and smacked Sam in the back of the head.

"Ow! Dick," Sam's tone was sharp, "What was that for?"

"Why you gotta step on my foot?," Not like he didn't know exactly why, he just felt like being outraged about something that didn't involve Fun Size Barbie sitting in the car.

Fun Size.

Probably a bad choice of words.

"Why you got to talk to the police like that?" Sam hissed in Dean's ear, wondering what the hell had gotten into his brother lately. Well, aside from the obvious.

"Come on, man," Dean twisted around to look at his little brother, hands on his hips, annoyed as he turned to face Sam head on, "They don't really know what's goin' on. We're all alone on this. I mean, if we're gonna find Dad, we've gotta get to the bottom of this thing ourselves."

Clearing his throat, Sam pointedly looked behind Dean, letting him know they were no longer alone.

If it was Skye, he'd kill her.

Dean spun around, coming face to face with the Sheriff and two gentlemen that, from all appearances, were actual Federal Marshals.

The Sheriff spoke up, voice stern, "Can I help you boys?"

"No sir, we were just leaving," Dean nodded to the two federal agents as they walked past him, unable to help himself, "Agent Mulder, Agent Scully."

Damn, now he wanted to go watch X-Files. Maybe they'd get lucky, solve this thing so they could get a motel room for a few hours and maybe catch an episode and some sleep. He spared half a thought to wonder what kind of shows Skye watched...not that he cared.

Walking away, Sam close behind him, they left the Sheriff standing there looking none too happy at the young men's intrusion.

Striding as quickly as they could back to the car without drawing unwanted attention, Sam spoke up as they reached the vehicle, "You're wrong, you know."

"Wrong? About what?"

"We're not alone in this," Sam grinned, a lock of brown hair falling into his eyes.

Stopping a few feet from the car, Dean looked over at him, confused, "Yeah? How you figure?"

Gesturing to the backseat, Sam just had to point out, "We got Skye."

Groaning, Dean covered the remaining distance to the car and reached for the door handle, "Don't fuckin' remind me. I just love babysitting."

"If that's babysitting, then you're on a list somewhere," Sam laughed as he made his way around the front of the car.

"Jesus Christ, Sammy, that's just all kindsa wrong."

This is the kind of thing that was going to drive him to drink.

* * *

Opening her eyes at the sound of the doors closing, Skye grouched, "What the fuck took you guys so long? Can we get the hell outta here so I can get up off the floor please?"

Hey, at least she said please.

Dean started the car, not deigning to answer as he pulled back onto the road, thinking of ways he could subtly make Sammy's life miserable if he didn't knock his shit off.

Draping an arm across the backseat, Sam asked, "You get why you had to hide, right? We weren't just being jerks."

Skye nodded before remembering there was no way they could see her, "Yeah, I get it. I mean, I'm sure the chance to be a jerk was just a nice bonus, but I get it. It'd be a little weird for two supposed Marshals to have a random teenager in their back seat."

"You're not as stupid as you look," Dean just had to add his two cents.

"If only I could say the same to you."

Sam reached back and tapped the seat above her head, "You can get up now, we're clear."

"Thanks, Sam," Groaning, she unfolded herself and slid back up onto the seat, stretching her legs out, "No doubt Dean would keep me down there if he could."

"Yeah, I totally would," Dean agreed wholeheartedly, "Easier to forget you exist if I can't see you. Might need to add some duct tape first though."

Catching his eye in the rearview, she couldn't quite tell if he were serious or teasing her. Eh, safer to assume the former.

Leaning forward, she crossed her arms on the back of the seat, "You guys find out anything useful?"

Lifting his hand, moving it in a see-saw motion, Sam answered, "Little yes, little no. Mostly no."

"The cops are useless, but we did overhear that one of their daughters was dating the victim," Dean looked up, briefly meeting her eyes in the mirror before looking back at the road, "She's been putting up missing persons flyers in town. We're gonna head in and try to find her, see if she's got any info we can use."

"Makes sense," she nodded slowly, tapping her fingers on the dark leather seat, "I'm comin' with."

Damned if she was going to sit in the car again if she didn't have to. She wanted to know what was going on and she didn't trust these two to keep her in the loop. Besides, she hated being bored with a passion.

"No, you're not," Dean's voice was flat, the kind of tone most people wouldn't argue with when it came from a man of Dean's stature and prickly demeanor. Of course, he'd already figured out Skye wasn't most people.

Whiskey brown eyes crinkled at the corner as she pasted on her sweetest smile, head cocked as she addressed Sam, "What do you think, Sam? Am I gonna stay in the car this time?"

"You know, probably not. You're an adult and it's a free country," Shaking his head, Sam tried valiantly not to look as amused as he felt and failed, "How old are you anyway?"

Dean pretended not to be interested in the answer. He knew she was legal, he just didn't know how legal and he was kind of glad Sam asked.

"Eighteen. Nineteen in like two months," She replied, not bothered at the question, "Legal for everything but booze. Though my fake ID says I'm twenty-two."

"Twenty-two my ass. You barely pass for eighteen," Dean made a noise of complete disbelief, "Why do you even have a fake ID?"

"Regular people have 'em too, sweetie," She gave Dean a look that heavily implied he was a moron, "I was born and raised in Oklahoma and the only things to do in Oklahoma are drink, fuck, and go cow tippin'. Spoiler, cow tippin' ain't really a thang."

For a second there, she laid on her native accent a little thicker than normal. It was something she'd worked hard to lighten up on. Sounding like an Okie made a lot of people take her less than seriously, her youthful appearance didn't help either.

When she felt like it she could slip right back into that peculiar accent that wasn't quite midwestern and wasn't quite southern but somewhere in the middle, a very distinct twang familiar to anyone that heard it.

"I didn't know you were from Oklahoma," Sam looked over his shoulder at her, "I thought you guys met in New Orleans."

"Dude, I've known you for all of five minutes," she pointed out, sitting back with her arms across her chest, "What you do know about me would just about fill a matchbook. I moved to New Orleans with my Grandma when I turned eighteen. Hadn't even lived there a year and honestly, kinda hate it. Too crowded."

"Did-did you just call me 'sweetie' in a backwoods accent?" Dean sounded way more disturbed than was called for, as if she'd called him something much worse. Which she had.

On multiple occasions.

"Oh honey. Bless yer little heart," she smiled sweetly, "And in case ya didn't know, 'bless yer heart' is Okie for 'fuck you'."

"I can't say I was aware of that," Sam chuckled, "Thanks for the translation."

"Okay, you can quit talkin' like that," Dean shivered, "It's just unsettling."

Shaking her head, she twined a strand of hair around her finger, shifting her attention to the scenery outside. They were in town now, a pretty typical small town. Just like the town Skye had grown up in. Just like a million other little towns that dotted the US. It did not bring back fond memories. She'd been born in Bartlesville, Oklahoma, but had lived most of her life in the tiny town of Nowata, about twenty minutes from Bartlesville. The closest 'city'. She hadn't been lying or exaggerating when she'd said the only things to do there were drink or fuck. The teen pregnancy rate in rural OK was kind of high and alcohol and drug use were a real problem. She'd managed to avoid a lot of that by the simple expedient of being an antisocial virgin that refused to touch any drug stronger than pot with a ten-foot pole. Her oh-so-loving mother did more than enough drugs for the both of them.


	5. Chapter 4

It wasn't long at all before Dean found a parking spot and pulled in, cutting the engine and stuffing the keys in the pocket of his jacket. Glancing back in the rearview as Sam got out of the car, he caught her eye, "Alright, you can come. Just behave yourself."

Her response was a prompt and polite obscene gesture in Dean's direction as Sam opened her door for her.

Jumping out, she smiled up at the much taller man, "Thanks, Sasquatch."

Waiting till she was clear before shutting the door, he looked down at her, trying to decide whether to be amused or offended, "Did you just call me Sasquatch?"

"I did, 'cause you are," she grinned, her demeanor with him markedly different than the way she acted with Dean. Moving closer, almost but not quite touching, the top of her head didn't even reach his shoulders, "See? You're totally a Sasquatch. That can't be normal, therefore an ancestor must be Bigfoot."

"Okay," he nodded slowly, reaching out a hand to pat her on the head before remembering she didn't seem to like being touched and sticking it in his pocket instead, "Fair enough...Midget."

"I'll have you know that legally I am two inches too tall to qualify as a Little Person."

"You serious?," he laughed at her affirmative nod, "That's awesome."

Dean cleared his throat from further up the sidewalk, grabbing their attention and pointing out a young woman with missing persons flyers in one hand, "If you two hens are done cluckin', I think that's our girl."

A dramatic hand on her chest as she and Sam joined Dean, Skye couldn't help mouthing off, though she was at least quiet enough not to be overheard by anyone else, "And here I thought I was your girl, Winchester."

Looking skyward and praying for patience, Dean steered her toward the young woman, studiously refusing to catch the looks Sammy was throwing his way. As they got closer to the girl, Skye hung back a step or two. She knew damn well she should probably stay in the car, it was just pure stubbornness that wouldn't let her admit it. Besides, if she was going to be with Dean for any length of time, she'd have to step way outside of her comfort zone and she figured this was as good a start as any. Dean spoke up once they got within a comfortable conversational distance, "You must be Amy."

He hoped, anyway. He didn't particularly want to have to search the whole damn town for one specific girl if it turned out she wasn't the one they were looking for.

"Yeah," she nodded, looking at the three people in front of her, wondering who they were and what they could possibly want, "I'm Amy."

Smiling, Dean suddenly turned all charm and light, vastly different from the young man Skye had been getting to know over the last few days, "Troy told us about you. We're his Uncles. I'm Dean, this is Sam and this is our little sister Skye."

Little sister. Yeah, that wasn't disturbing at all. He didn't think he'd be using that one again.

Amy didn't pause as she put up another of the posters she carried, "He never mentioned you to me."

She started to walk off as she finished with her current self-appointed task, Dean half-laughing as he caught up with her, "Yeah, well, that's Troy I guess. We're not around much, we're up in Modesto now."

Stepping around them, Sam was almost walking backward to address Amy, "We're looking for him too and we're kind of asking around."

From the look on the young woman's face, she really didn't want to talk to them right now. Or ever. She looked worn out and emotionally wrecked.

"I know this has gotta be hard for you but would you mind terribly if we asked you a couple of questions? You know, any little thing we find out may help find Troy." Stepping up, literally and figuratively, Skye closed the gap between herself and the young woman, a sympathetic smile on her lips as she placed a reassuring hand on Amy's arm. Okay, so most likely Troy was toast. Of course, she wasn't about to say that. Skye could feel Dean move up behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing a little harder than strictly necessary. Internally she struggled not to jump out of her skin and slap his hand away, outwardly she didn't bat an eye. She made a mental note to kick him later when he wasn't paying attention.

"Yeah, that'd be fine, I guess," Amy smiled, a sad exhausted smile to be sure, but a smile nonetheless, "What did you say your name was?"

"Skye," she gestured to the little diner across the street, "Why don't we go in and sit down. We'll buy you a cup of coffee. May as well be comfortable, right? And I'm bettin' you could use the caffeine. You probably ain't slept a wink."

Amy nodded slow agreement, "It's been a long night, you know?"

Following Skye as she lead the way across the street, Sam holding the door and exchanging an inscrutable look with Dean as the two young women entered the diner. Raising a hand, she gestured to the tables and booths that dotted the small space, "Wherever you wanna sit is fine, Amy."

It didn't take but a few seconds for the young woman to pick a booth, sliding onto one of the bench seats, Skye sitting beside her and offering her a consoling hand to hold without seeming to give it a second thought. Sam slid in opposite Amy, leaving Dean directly across from Skye. The booths were small enough and Dean's legs long enough that they couldn't help but brush up against hers. She could feel the heat of his skin through the fabric of her jeans and his. The man was a friggin' space heater. Given enough time she figured she'd get used t it. Enough time being ten years or so. She didn't really think she had that long though.

It took a lot of self-control on her part not to curl her legs up under her to avoid it.

Dean of course didn't appear to mind at all, or even notice.

She was very very wrong, but she didn't have any way to know that, now did she. Dean was, in fact, having a very difficult time keeping his attention on Amy. He could feel the warmth of Skye's skin through two layers of denim and it was more distracting than it had any right to be, the scent of her perfume growing stronger, making his head spin. He really needed to ask her to refrain from wearing it even if it did smell fantastic. Like...honeysuckle.

Looking over at Dean, Skye raised a brow when she caught his eye, an unspoken signal to take over as she really had no idea what sorts of questions to ask. Hell, she'd only spoken up in the first place because the poor girl just looked so distraught, just needing a hug or a friendly shoulder. A cup of coffee felt like the least they could do for bothering her with questions that were bound to be upsetting. Dean caught Skye's signal with no trouble, proving he really was as quick on the draw as she figured, though there was no way in hell she was going to give him credit for it, "When is the last time you talked to Troy, Amy?"

"The day he disappeared. I was actually on the phone with him right before-," she sniffed, her voice thick with tears she wouldn't shed right now. Taking a breath, she squeezed Skye's hand without noticing she was doing so, drawing a little strength from the strangers touch, "I was on the phone with him and he was driving home. He said he would call me right back but-but he never did."

They all fell quiet as the waitress approached, taking their order. Four cups of coffee was simple enough and they didn't resume the conversation until their mugs were in front of them. Picking up the cup of steaming liquid, Sam's hands dwarfed the mug. His voice was subdued. The longer Skye was around him, the more he seemed to fit the 'gentle giant' stereotype, "He didn't say anything strange or out of the ordinary?"

"No," Amy shook her head, barely glancing at the drink in front of her, "Nothing I can remember."

"Here's the deal, Amy," Dean leaned back in his seat, forearms resting on the table in front of him, "The way Troy disappeared, something's not right. So if you've heard anything…"

His tone may have been a bit harsher than was really necessary and Skye may or may not have "accidently" kicked him under the table in response, though you couldn't tell by his lack of reaction. At least, his lack of reaction above the table. Under it, he managed to pin Skye's ankles between his so she couldn't do it again, much to her consternation. Hesitating, Amy held Skye's hand in both of hers, looking as if she were trying to decide whether or not to tell them something.

"What is it, honey?," Skye's voice was barely audible enough for the boys to hear, though they were sitting just on the other side of the table, "It's okay, you can spill, I promise we're all ears."

The sense of warm sympathy flowing around the petite Okie was strong enough for both young men on the opposite side of the table to take note of, though neither was really concerned about it at the moment. Lifting a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, Amy responded, "Well it's just-I mean, with all these guys going missing, people talk."

"Small town, people latch onto anything that might provide entertainment value," Skye gave a slow nod, "People disappearing? It'd be big news around here."

"Exactly," Amy ducked her head in agreement, smiling at Skye, "You from a small town."

"Population of less than four thousand, so yeah, I'd say so," she smiled, managing not to squirm in her seat through sheer force of will, "Everybody knew everything about everybody else. You couldn't spit without the neighbor two blocks away reportin' it to everyone at church on Sunday."

Disturbingly, Sam and Dean spoke up in unison, trying to get them back on track, "Ladies."

Looking at Sam sideways, Dean cleared his throat, "Amy, you were saying?"

"It's kind of this local legend. This one girl, she got murdered out on Centennial like decades ago," Looking down at the table, she sounded apologetic, "Supposedly, she's still out there. She hitchhikes and whoever picks up her disappears forever."

"I think every little town has a story or two like that," Skye squeezed Amy's hand, "Back in my hometown, we had a couple. I think Cry Baby Bridge was everyone's favorite to scare the kids with. Supposedly a Native American woman threw her baby off a bridge and threw herself in after," She looked thoughtful for a moment, "Not that there's ever anything to these stories, but did the murdered woman have a name that you remember?"

Couldn't hurt to ask, right?

"Courtney? Carly maybe?," Amy thought for a minute, staring at the cup in front of her but not really seeing it, "I don't really know."

Dean and Sam exchanged another look, sharing a mix of exasperation and surprise at how Skye was inserting herself into their little investigation. And doing a pretty decent job of it, too. Nudging Skye's knee under the table, Dean caught her eye, letting her know it was time to wrap this up.

Giving Amy's hand a squeeze, she managed to disengage her grip, using her mostly full coffee mug as an excuse. It didn't take her long to finish the much needed caffeine and the conversation, ending it with a few pleasantries and a last sympathy hug as she reassured Amy that everything would be fine. She was sure it would all work out. Etc etc. Yeah, right. Paying the check, they left, Amy taking up the missing persons flyers and moving down the street to put up a few more.

* * *

As soon as Amy was out of earshot, Dean turned on Skye, "What'd you kick me for?"

He'd known why Sam had stepped on him earlier, this time he legitimately had no clue.

"Because you were bein' a dick," Skye wrapped her arms around herself for warmth, "You don't have to be so harsh, couldn't you see the poor girl was rattled enough?" She huffed, turning to Sam as Dean contemplated murder, and not for the first time today. Not that she needed the reassurance or anything, but it'd be nice to hear anyway. "All in all, I think that went well...didn't it?"

"Yeah, it did," Sam grinned down at her, "You did great. Certainly didn't expect you to step in and lead the conversation."

Interrupting, Dean jammed his hands into his jacket pockets, the muscle in his jaw twitching again as he clenched his teeth. A bad habit that would no doubt cost a load in dental bills at some point in the future, "Don't do it again...and I thought you didn't like to be touched?"

"Aren't you observant," she narrowed her eyes as she looked up at him, "I don't. Why?"

Sam answered, brushing his hair out of his eyes, "Because Amy was touching you the entire time and it didn't seem to bother you at all."

"You two should know as well as anyone that 'seems' and 'is' are two entirely different things," she thought about it for a second, trying to phrase her thoughts as succinctly as possible, "Her pain, and your need for information, outweigh my discomfort. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Or the one."

"Did you just quote Star Trek?," Dean ran a hand through his hair, wondering if anyone would look at him funny if he started drinking hard liquor this early in the day, "I'm surrounded by nerds."

"Did you just realize I quoted Star Trek? 'Cause it takes one to know one, nerd boy," She shivered, goosebumps popping up as a cold breeze blew across her skin, "Can we go somewhere that's not outside to finish this conversation?"

Looking at her just long enough for it to be disconcerting, Dean made a strangled noise in the back of his throat and shrugged out of his jacket, handing it to her, "Here, take it till we can get you one of your own."

Something he should have done days ago but it just hadn't occurred to him. He'd let himself feel guilty about it later. He was good at that sort of thing.

She must have looked like she was about to refuse, probably because she was, but he cut her off before she could open her mouth, "Put it on or so help me God I will put it on you, you stubborn little hobgoblin."

Sam seemed to be intently studying the cracks in the sidewalk, refusing to take sides when she looked at him for backup.

"...fine," she took the coat, reluctantly putting it on, still warm and smelling like its owner. Surprisingly, not unpleasant.

Okay, not so surprising.

Goddammit.

"Thank you," It was grudging, but hey, at least she'd said it. She even meant it. Mostly. She was saying 'thank you' a little too often lately. She wasn't used to it and she didn't like it.

Enjoying her discomfort entirely too much, Dean managed a shit-eating grin "You're welcome."

Clearing his throat, Sam got their attention, "How about we head over to the library and see what we can find out, then maybe we can go get Skye some proper gear."

"Sounds good to me," Dean agreed, "Come on."

Skye followed as they headed back to the car, preoccupied with trying to shake the sleeves of the too-big jacket up so they didn't hang past her fingertips, looking for all the world like a kid playing dress-up in big brother's clothes.

* * *

Only a few minutes later and they were pulling into the parking lot of the Jericho Public Library, miraculously finding a spot right up front. That seemed to happen a lot. Pausing with his hand on the door, Sam twisted back to look at Skye, "You coming, Midget?"

Muttering under his breath as he got out of the car, Dean said something to the effect of 'I fuckin' hope not'. She had been considering staying in the car and picking up where she'd left off in the book she'd borrowed but she was just contrary enough that she decided against it just to spite him, "Oh definitely."

Within about a minute, she found herself in front of a bank of computers, taking a deep breath and relaxing at the familiar and reassuring smell of hundreds of books that permeated the air. Every library smelled the same, the consistency was comforting. Dean sat down in front of a computer on the end, away from everyone else, Sam sitting down in a rolling chair next to him. Skye stayed on Sam's right, ignoring her own personal bubble to lean half over him so she could see. It would have made more sense to stand on the other side of Dean, but she found herself a lot more comfortable with Sam. Dean was just confounding for a variety of reasons, not all of which she was at all ready to acknowledge. Pulling up the website of the local paper, the Jericho Herald, Dean searched for female homicide victims out on Centennial Highway. He tried several different search terms with no result before Sam got impatient and made a grab for the mouse under Dean's hand, "Let me try."

Smacking his hand away, Dean gave him a dirty look, "I got it."

Glaring at Dean, Sam used both hands and shoved him out of the way, the wheeled chair sliding easily across the floor. He quickly took Dean's place in front of the monitor.

"Dude," Dean popped him on the shoulder, "You are such a control freak."

"Children," Skye threatened a little too cheerfully, "Don't make me put you both in time out."

They both, equally cheerfully, completely ignored her. Rolling back in his chair, Dean took a position on Sam's left as Skye bent over the table, her forearms resting next to the keyboard, the stupid too-long sleeves falling over her hands, enveloping them completely. Probably for the best that she didn't notice Dean's lips twitch as he held back a smile. Resting his fingertips on the keyboard, Sam looked at his brother out of the corner of his eye before turning to Skye, explaining, "So, angry spirits are born out of violent death. Usually murder or a lethal accident."

This was the first she'd been told about it but it made sense. If ghosts were really a thing, being pissed off was understandable if they died in some horribly traumatizing way.

"...so maybe we're not looking for a murder," Sam continued, tapping rapidly on the keys as he pulled up a search for female suicide victims on Centennial Highway. The search quickly populated with one result from 1981.

Summarizing for the benefit of his companions, Sam read, "One Constance Welch, 24, jumped off Sylvania bridge and drowned in the river."

"Does it say why she did it?" Dean leaned closer to the screen, trying to get a good look.

"Uh...yeah," Sam scrolled for a second as he skimmed the article, "An hour before they found her, she'd called 911. Her two kids were in the tub. She left them alone for a minute and when she came back, they weren't breathing. Both died. 'Our babies were gone and Constance just couldn't bear it,' said husband, Joseph Welch."

"Yeah," Dean leaned back in his seat, "That'd do it."

Leaning over the computer screen, Skye tapped the picture of the bridge included in the article, "Hey, the bridge where you deserted me for hours earlier today."

"It was twenty minutes, Tinkerbell," Dean rolled his eyes, "Don't be such a drama queen."

"Ok," Skye blew out a frustrated breath, swiping a loose strand of hair out of her eyes, "I gotta ask. Why the hell am I 'Tinkerbell'?"

"Because," he grinned, amused, "You're tiny and irritating with a massive attitude problem. Like Tinkerbell."

She was also really cute when she was angry but he wouldn't have admitted that under threat of torture. Just like she wouldn't have admitted he was damn cute when he smiled like that. Sam swallowed a laugh, not wanting to earn the ire of her tiny massive attitude problem. Opening her mouth to reply, she ended up closing it again, unable to think of an appropriate comeback. For once she seemed at a loss for words. Eventually deciding ignoring Dean was the better part of valor, she turned back to Sam, "Does it say how old her kids were?"

Turning back to the screen, Sam clicked the mouse a couple of times, scrolling through the article again, "Yeah, yeah it does. They were five and six, why?"

She rubbed the tip of her nose, shaking the sleeves up again before Dean blew out an exasperated breath and rolled over to stop in front of her. Eyeing him suspiciously, she answered Sam,"...because that's a little old to mysteriously drown in the tub. Babies and toddlers, sure, happens all the time. Five and six? Smart money's that she killed 'em, then herself."

"Oh relax "I don't bite." Dean reached for her arm as she tried to take a step back, bumping up against the table behind her. Of course, that was a damnable lie, he'd certainly been known to, but only in appropriate situations. Maybe if she asked nicely...shit. No. Bad train of thought on his part. Grabbing one sleeve, he quickly rolled it up to her wrist, not so much as glancing up at her when he finished and did the other. When he was done, he got to his feet, standing more than a little too close for comfort. Looking down at her with those ludicrously green eyes, he smiled, "See, that wasn't so bad, was it."

Okay, so it hadn't been, but that didn't stop Skye from shying away when he moved a little too fast, reaching up to adjust the collar. She couldn't help it, it was simply a deeply ingrained reflex.

"...sorry," he took a step back, holding up his hands in a 'I swear I'm harmless' gesture that she didn't buy for a second. Harmless her shiny white ass.

"S'ok," she slid out from between him and the table, turning away before he could see the heat rising under the surface of her skin. Partially from the embarrassment that she'd let him see her flinch, partially from something else entirely. Not being a complete moron, Sam pretended he didn't notice any part of it while internally rubbing his hands together with glee, like a greedy Mr. Burns. 'Excellent.'

"Why do you think so, Short Round?" he asked, bringing everyone's attention back to the problem at hand.

"Experience. I've done a lot of babysittin', Chewie. Anything to get me out of the house..."Clearing her throat to cover for the fact that she'd forgotten what they'd been talking about there for a second. It took a moment to gather her thoughts together again. "Just take my word for it, the chances of two kids that age accidentally drowning in just a few minutes is slim to none unless maybe they had some kinda disability. I'll bet you dinner that I'm right."

Rolling her assessment around in his mind, Sam couldn't find anything to disagree with. He personally didn't have much experience with kids but it sounded about right and she seemed confident that she knew what she was talking about.

"You know, that would make sense," Dean contemplated what she'd said while trying not to contemplate her overreaction to his proximity, "Would explain why she threw herself off a bridge so quick. Guilt is a powerful motivator for suicide."

"Well it was Skye's urban legend about her hometown bridge that made me think suicide in the first place," Sam smiled, about to pat her on the shoulder before remembering she didn't like to be touched and holding up a closed fist instead.

Touching her knuckles to Sam's, she figured a fist bump was acceptable physical contact, brief and only mildly uncomfortable. Dean, of course, had no such qualms about breaching her boundaries, giving her a pat on the back as he passed, "You might not be completely useless after all, Tinkerbell."

A one-word reply conveyed everything Skye had to say about that, "Dick."

Falling into step behind Skye as she followed Dean out the door, Sam managed not to smirk at the two of them, if only just.

"So what now?"

"Sam and I go to the bridge, see what we can find," Dean answered, holding the door open for her and his brother before stepping out into the evening air, "I'll get a room at the motel we passed on our way into town and you can watch chick flicks and do your nails till we get back."

He was perfectly aware there was no way that was going to happen but hell, he had to try.

"Mmhmm," Skye gave a vague agreement, "Yeah, sure. I'll do that."

Spoiler: Hahaha, no she wouldn't.

Beating them both back to the car, Sam stood with the passenger door open as he watched them, inordinately entertained by their constant bickering, "You guys considered couples counseling?"

Or maybe just getting a room and getting it over with. Not that he was stupid enough to voice that part out loud. Dean shot him a look that had been known to dishearten more than one grown man. Sam however just smiled and got in the car. Brothers. More trouble than they were worth. Popping into the backseat a few seconds later, Skye picked up a pack of gum and threw it at Sam, pegging him square in the back of his pointy little head. Couldn't have him thinking she hadn't heard that.

"Hey!," he rubbed the back of his head though it wasn't like it had actually hurt.

"Deserved it."

"Yeah," he couldn't really deny that, "Okay, that's fair."

Climbing into the driver's seat, Dean slammed the door behind him, closing his eyes and banging his head against the steering wheel before turning around, arm across the back of the seat as he looked at Skye, "I mean it, Skye. It could get dangerous and you don't need to be there."

"Look Dean, you can try to order me around all you want but ultimately I'm an adult," she leaned forward, for once catching his gaze and maintaining eye contact, "And I guarantee I can out-stubborn you."

Cocking her head to the side, she watched the irritation on his face creep over to anger, "I'm still not totally convinced any of this is real and you're not actually some psycho serial killer with really vivid hallucinations," sitting back, she waved a hand in Sam's direction, "You could both be nucking-futz. Besides, this particular ghost,  _if_  she exists, only goes after men right? I should be safe enough."

Coughing to cover a laugh, Sam looked at his brother, "Let her go, Dean. Unless you plan on handcuffing her and tossing her in a closet, she'd probably just hitch a ride out there anyway. And she's got a point, Constance only goes after men so if she's going to get her proof, this would be the job to provide it."

"I do have handcuffs, you know. I really could cuff her and throw her in a closet." Starting the car and pulling out into the sparse traffic, Dean gripped the steering wheel tight enough to make his fingertips numb. Of course, he could also think of way better uses for those cuffs but...He veered sharply away from that train of thought, dragging his thoughts out of the gutter before they got him in real trouble.

"Yeah, but then you'd have to deal with her later." Or just pull over and hop in the backseat with her, Sam would be more than happy to take a long walk and give them some privacy. He had a sneaking suspicion Skye would get over her aversion to being touched real damn quick if given the right motivation.

"Oh I promise, you think I'm unpleasant now, just see how much worse I get when I'm actually pissed off," her voice held the promise of untold misery and possible physical torture if he tried it.

"Fine. Whatever. I tried. You can't say I didn't try." Dean growled. Not that he tried very hard, but he did try and that was the important thing.

"It was a good effort, man. Really," Sam laid his arm on the back of the seat, smirking at his brother, "I got to say, I believe her when she says she can out-stubborn you and that's saying something."

"Aww," Skye leaned forward, hand on the back of the seat next to Sam's shoulder, "That may be the sweetest thing anyone's ever said about me. I'm sorry I threw gum at you."

"What can I say, I'm a sweet guy," he smacked Dean's arm, "Which reminds me…"

"Quit hittin' me," Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, Dean grumbled, "I haven't forgotten."

Dean inclined his head toward a thrift shop halfway up the block, pulling into a vacant space right in front of the store. The man really did seem to always be able to find the perfect parking space. Maybe he'd sacrificed a few lambs to the traffic god, if there were such a thing. Turning off the ignition, he pocketed the keys and looked at Skye in the rearview, "Well, you comin'?"

Making no move to get out, Sam stretched his legs out as much as he could, leaning against the door and smirking, "I think I'm going to sit this one out. You two have fun."

"Now you're just beggin' for more gum to the head, Stretch," Skye slid out when Dean opened the door for her, a disagreeable look on his too-pretty face.

"Shake a leg, we ain't got all day," Not that he really begrudged the time this would take, but being tetchy with her was getting to be a habit.

Stretching languidly as she got out of the car, she took her sweet ass time, foiling his efforts as he tried to usher her toward the storefront, "Did I ask you to take me shopping? No. I hate shopping, so you just cool your jets, Short Bus."

Okay, now it was begrudged. Snippy little pygmy.

* * *

Holding the door for Skye, Dean let it go just a second too soon, smiling sweetly as it came within a hair's breadth of hitting her before she skipped out of the way. Petty, but funny. Looking ill at ease, Skye pulled up short and stopped a few feet from the entrance, hands in the pockets of her ragged jeans.

"Get whatever, I know you don't have much," he put a hand on the small of her back and gave her a shove, "Just keep in mind there's not a lot of room in the car."

Like she was about to forget. Moving back a couple of paces, she looked up at him, eyes narrowed distrustfully, "Why are you bein' nice to me all of a sudden?"

"I'm a nice guy." Well, it was true, he was, just not lately.

"No you're not," Okay, maybe he'd been kind of nice a time or two but it wasn't exactly a clear pattern of behavior, "You're a spiteful ass."

"And maybe you'd be less of a miserable bitch if you were more comfortable," he figured that'd be an excuse she'd buy...and it might also be true.

"That's fair," she visibly relaxed, finding it far easier to accept any kindness on his part if it were ultimately self-serving, "I buy that."

See.

As soon as her back was turned to look through the racks of clothing, his expression softened. He kind of thought she wouldn't be so bad if she'd just relax a little. Hands in his pockets, he rocked back on his heels as he thought about her behavior over the last week. He knew he wasn't always the easiest guy to get along with but there were definitely times her reaction was all out of proportion. Wandering away to sit on the bench set against the wall near the fitting rooms, he stretched out his long legs and replayed the last few days in his head, gathering all the little bits and scraps he'd figured out about the girl he was being forced to spend his time with. The way she didn't like to be touched. How she flinched away from sudden movement and it wasn't just with him. He'd almost wanted to think it was personal, but when he thought back, he could remember her doing it to anyone that got too close. How she held herself so tense all the time, always on guard The way she had such a hard time accepting even little kindnesses, making the effort to thank him for something as simple as picking her up a candy bar. Hell, even the way she woke up from a nap, that all-at-once wakefulness wasn't normal. He'd figured she had a rough childhood though she really hadn't mentioned it. In fact she didn't really talk about herself at all, never volunteering anything. He didn't even know her music preferences or hell, he didn't even know her last name. ...that...that wasn't normal.

All of it lead to a disturbing realization. She acted like she was always expecting a blow because she  _was._ He leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he wiped a hand over his face. Jesus, maybe he really was a moron. All the signs had been there and he should have realized way before now. He just...hadn't. He could blame distraction and exhaustion all he wanted but, okay, sometimes he was just a dumbass. He'd caught a glimpse or two of a sweet girl under the surface and now he was solidly convinced she wasn't a miserable bitch under it all. She was just broken. He could relate. Of course, this was bound to make things more difficult for him. He was already attracted to her, difficult as that was to admit even to himself, but if she really turned out to be as decent a person as he thought she might be? He could be in serious trouble.

Shaken out of his reverie by the sound of the fitting room door next to him closing, he got to his feet. Pushing back the sleeve of his dark red button-up, he checked the time on the chunky black watch on his wrist. It'd be dark soon and they'd be able to check out the bridge. Rapping a knuckle on the door, he spoke loud enough to be heard, "We need to head out soon."

A rustle of fabric and a faint noise of assent, "Like five minutes, tops."

Sighing, he ran a hand through his thick hair, gaze drifting over the nearby shelves before settling on a box marked '$15 For All'. Swiping it off the shelf, he poked through the contents. An old school Discman with some battery life left, a decent looking pair of headphones and about a hundred CD's in just about every genre. Perfect. Two birds, one stone. Maybe this would keep her off his radio and prove that he wasn't an asshole. Well, not a  _total_  asshole, anyway. She was already at the counter when he walked up, making small talk with the cashier as she waited for him. He took a quick look at the small pile of clothes as he dropped the box onto the counter next to it. Good, she didn't seem to have gone overboard. One thing he didn't see though…

"Shoes," he gave her dilapidated old sneakers a look that spoke volumes.

"Oh," a flicker of embarrassment crossed her features before she wiped it away and shrugged, "Didn't think about it. Hold up."

"Figured I'd try to fit in, boots being so in style in our social circle and all." Disappearing between two clothing racks, she reemerged a couple of minutes later with a pair of black boots and a couple of books. Holding up the books, copies of 'The Shining' and 'Alice in Wonderland', her inflection turning a little uncertain, "...that okay?"

Plucking the copy of 'The Shining' out of her hand, he tossed it onto the counter on the other side of the register, "I've got that in the car, but yeah that's fine."

The cashier rang them up in no time and Skye was nicely surprised when Dean paid cash. She didn't think she'd seen him pay cash for anything. She was relieved that poor Hector wasn't paying for her shit. She knew she couldn't really afford to have morals about that kind of thing but it didn't stop her conscience from giving her a sharp jab now and again. Grabbing the plastic bag of clothes, Dean stuck it on top of the cardboard box and shoved it all into her arms, "Merry fuckin' Christmas, come on."

She hadn't paid any attention to the box when it had been on the counter, figuring it was something he was getting for himself. That didn't appear to be the case. What in the world could he possibly have gotten for her? Holding the door open for her as she struggled to see over the bulk in her arms, it was Dean's turn to be pleasantly surprised when she referenced one of his favorite movies, "What's in the box? I mean aside from Gwyneth Paltrow's head."

"Wait two seconds and see, Miss Impatient," smirking, he threw her own words back at her.

She stepped off the curb, trying not to run into anything. Putting her newly bought things on the trunk, she opened the back door, Dean having already climbed into the driver's seat. Retrieving her things, she slid her newfound bounty over and got in after it, closing the door behind her. Sam appeared to be asleep, his head back and hair in his eyes. The boy needed to learn the meaning of 'barber', though really it suited him. He was just kind of shaggy all around, like a puppy in desperate need of a groomer.

Impatiently tossing the bag of clothes on the floor as Dean pulled into traffic, she was anxious to satisfy her curiosity about the box. She was like ninety-nine percent sure there wasn't actually a head in there, but you never knew. Taking the Discman out of the box, a relic from the late 90's that seemed to be in excellent condition, she just looked at it for a long moment before placing it in her lap to look through the wealth of CDs that accompanied it. Everything from Britney Spears to Avenged Sevenfold. Considering she liked just about every kind of music out there, it was perfect. Growing concerned when she was quiet for longer than sixty whole seconds, Dean was shaken more than he was willing to admit by what he saw when he looked in the rearview. She was looking down at the Discman in her hands, holding it carefully as if afraid it might break. For just a second, he thought she might cry. It was the first time he'd seen a completely unguarded expression on her pretty face. No masks. No walls. No snarky defensiveness. Even unaware she was being watched, it lasted no longer than a heartbeat or two.

Holding the CD player in her hands like it was made of glass, she slid forward in her seat, avoiding Dean's eyes in the mirror as she cleared her throat, "...thank you."

Unlike earlier, this wasn't a thanks grudgingly given but a sincere statement of gratitude, "...I don't- I mean I...thank you, Dean."

"My pleasure." And he meant it.

Yup, he was in trouble.


	6. Chapter 5

Full dark had fallen by the time they reached Sylvania bridge. A good thing, too. The cops were long gone by now and there'd be no one left to see them snooping around. Shaking Sam awake, Dean sounded a little too cheerful, "Hey lazy bones, wakey wakey."

Sam woke the same way Skye did, all at once without needing any time to clean out the cobwebs. He raised his head, shaking his hair out of his eyes, "We here?"

"Yup. Skye and I figured out the whole case while you were out, you slacker." If only. Then they could have gotten out of there, gotten a motel room and taken a shower. Watched movies. Slept for a week…

Actually looking hopeful for a split second, Sam had to ask, "Really?"

"No, you freak, now come on."

A giggle escaped from the backseat before being instantly cut off. Giggling like a kid was embarrassing and just totally unacceptable as far as Skye was concerned. Chuckling, snickering, even a good chortle were all fine but a giggle? Hell to the no.

"You two mind steppin' out of the car?" the question was accompanied by the rustle of plastic and fabric as she dug around for some of her new clothes. Sure she could wait until a more appropriate time and place, but dammit, she wanted to wear something that actually fit for a change, "I'd like to change real quick."

The boys looked at each other and shrugged. Not like it'd be the first time there was a nude girl in the car, though these circumstances were somewhat unique, "Just make it quick, Tinkerbell, we don't got all night."

Stepping out of the car, Sam and Dean walked around to stand by the roadside, facing the bridge with their backs to the Impala, giving Skye a modicum of privacy. They each stuck their hands in the pockets of their jeans, postures perfectly matched as they quietly surveyed the scenery around them. Speaking up after a few seconds of silence, Sam had to ask, "So, you to have fun shopping?

"Oh yeah, loads," Dean's voice dripped with sarcasm so think you could butter bread with it, "Buying kids clothes is just my favorite thing ever."

Turning his head to look at his brother, an unreadable expression in his eyes, Sam smiled, "It was a nice thing to do, Dean. I'm sure she's grateful."

"It was necessary," Dean brushed it off with a shrug, "Maybe now she'll give me an hours peace."

"The box of CDs and the disc player were absolute necessities," Sam looked up at the sky, stars clearly visible overhead in the clear night air, a smile hovering on his lips, "Not just because you're totally into her."

Closing his eyes, Dean wondered which gun he should shoot Sam with. Or maybe he should go old school, use a knife. Dismemberment was always fun, "I don't know what you're talkin' about, Sammy."

Uh huh. Sure. Okay. Maybe he just didn't  _want_  to know what Sammy was talking about because he just didn't want to acknowledge it to anyone. He'd barely acknowledged it to himself, for fucks sake.

"Here I was hoping you'd be over the denial by now. I mean, it's been hours. Come to grips already," Sam was quiet for a minute before he added, "If it helps, I'm pretty damn sure she's into you too."

Try as he might, Dean couldn't quite keep the corners of his lips from twitching up in a reluctant smile. Maybe he wouldn't kill Sammy after all.

* * *

As soon as the boys were out and away, backs turned toward the car, she wasted no time in stripping out of the clothes she was in. Pushing the worn out too-big jeans and threadbare t-shirt as far away from her as she could get, she examined her new threads with a smile. Hell, she'd even managed to find a couple of new bra and underwear sets in her size, still in the packaging with the original tags on them. Macklemore was right, yay thrift stores.

Tearing open the packaging with her teeth, she took a quick peek out the window to make sure the boys weren't looking before shucking off her old underthings and shimmying into the new ones. In short order, she'd also wiggled into her new, well at least new to her, boot-cut skinny jeans and a form-fitting black tank top that read 'I'm Not Trying To Be Difficult, It Just Comes Naturally' in white letters across the chest.

The new boots Dean had insisted on went over a pair of black socks with prints of pizza slices all over them. It was the first time in a very long time that she'd gotten to pick something out for herself and it made her happier than she'd thought it would. It was rare that she got to wear clothing that fit well and matched her own personal sense of style. She normally had to rely on charity.

Grabbing her new jacket, a denim affair on the outside with a loud Marvel Comics print on the inside, she opened the door and stepped out, turning to grab Dean's jacket before letting the door close behind her. The boys turned at the sound of the door, Dean catching his jacket as she tossed it to him before slipping hers on, "Thanks for the lender, Winchester."

Waving off her thanks, he tugged his coat on, studiously ignoring the fact that it smelled sweet. Like his car, only stronger. It could be worse, at least it wasn't grossly overpowering like the Vanilla Fields shit the last chick he'd hooked up with had been into. That had been downright eye-watering.

"Looks good," Sam nodded approval of her new duds, "A lot better than before. And I see you've joined Boots'R'Us."

Looking up, Dean took a second to actually  _look_  at her new clothes, not having bothered to see what she'd picked out or paying much attention even when she'd stepped out of the car, figuring it wouldn't make much difference. He was wrong. Jeans that not only fit, but clung as only a denim/spandex mix could. A tank top that hinted strongly at a much more athletic figure than he'd given her credit for and revealed curves her oversized t-shirt had hidden. All that combined with the fact that she seemed more at ease in her own skin had a striking effect. She wasn't just cute, she was actually kind of full-on hot. Muttering under his breath, the words slipped out with Dean meaning them to, "Oh fuck me."

"What was that," Sam smiled, standing close enough to pick up what wasn't meant to be heard, "Did you say something, Dean?"

"Nope, not a thing." Clearing his throat, Dean shook his head, "So, we gonna stand here all night or we gonna go look for a ghost?"

* * *

Crossing the worn-out asphalt highway, the sounds of the river loud in the quiet night, the three fell into step together. Sam and Dean took up protective places on either side of Skye without realizing they were doing it. It made sense even if it was subconscious, she was by far the weakest party member. Walking slowly down the length of the bridge, the lights hung high on the struts above gave a dim glow that didn't help much. Or at all. Stopping near the middle, the three looked over the railing to the shallow but quick flowing water below. Hands on the rail, Dean leaned out, "So this is where Constance took the swan dive."

Right this minute, he kind of sympathized and considered doing the same. Not seriously, of course, but damned if that would be easier in the long run.

...Oh if only he knew.

Pulling herself up, Skye leaned out a little further than was strictly safe, cringing hard as a hand grabbed her jacket and hauled her back, "Watch it, Tinkerbell, we don't need two ghosts around here makin' trouble."

"Look at it this way," she pointed out with a bright smile, "If I fall and die, you won't be stuck with me anymore."

"...then by all means. Maybe you can do a flip on the way down."

Straightening up, Sam rolled his eyes and turned, leaning casually back against the rail and slowly looked around the area as if he might see John there at any moment, "So you think Dad would have been here?"

"Well, he's chasing the same story and we're chasing him so…," Dean crossed his arms, leaning a hip against cold metal, "Yeah, probably."

Taking several steps back, Skye stood looking up at the sky far overhead, hands in the pockets of her denim jacket. If they hadn't been out chasing dead girls, it'd have been a great night for a bonfire and a beer. As if responding to an unspoken signal, all three turned and started walking toward the end of the bridge, Skye closest to the rail. She kept pausing to look down, wondering if she'd suddenly spot the spirit of Constant Welch somewhere in the darkness. Sam spoke up as they got closer to the end of the structure, "So what do we do now?.

"Now we keep diggin' till we find Dad," Dean answered as if it were beyond obvious, "It might take awhile."

Hopefully not too awful long, he needed to get cracking on breaking that fucking curse before it caused more issues than he was ready to deal with and he simply didn't have the resources to do that while chasing his father. Stopping dead in his tracks, Sam looked piqued, "Dean, I told you, I've got to get back by-"

"Monday." Fuck, and not in the fun way. Dean had just about forgotten that Sam was going back, "Right. The interview."

"Yeah."

"Yeah, ...You're really serious about this, aren't you?," Dean couldn't quite keep the disbelief out of his voice, "You think you're just gonna become some lawyer, marry your girl?"

"Yeah, maybe," More tired than angry, Sam wondered if he really needed to have this argument with his brother. What was wrong with wanting a life of his own, outside of the one that had been pressed on them both by their father, "Why not?"

Slowly wrapping a strand of hair around her finger, Skye took a step back to give the boys some space. This was one of those family things she didn't really feel the need, or desire, to be part of. Turning her back on the boys and wandering further down the bridge, she leaned against the cold metal rail, the damp slowly seeping into her tank-top as she tried to give them at least the illusion of privacy.

"Does Jessica know the truth about you?," Dean asked, cynicism soaking every word as he gave Sam a disparaging look, "Does she know about the things you've done?"

"No," Sam took a vaguely menacing step toward his brother, "She's not ever going to know."

"Well that's healthy," Dean oozed sarcasm, "You can pretend all you want Sammy, but sooner or later you're gonna have to face up to who you really are."

"Who I really am?" Sam caught up to his brother easily as Dean turned and walked away, his gaze flickering to Skye and back again, "You really want to talk about pretending right now? Denial isn't just a river in Egypt, Dean. You're not exactly the picture of emotional health and stability."

"Don't go there, you don't know what the hell you're talkin' about," Dean clenched his teeth, the muscle in his jaw twitching, "You're one of us, Sammy, whether you like it or not."

Turning her head, Skye watched them out of the corner of her eye as they moved closer to where they stood.

"No Dean, I'm not like you," There was really no denying that. They were very different people, though they shared some key traits, "This is not going to be my life."

"You can't walk away from this, Sammy, " His voice roughened with anger, "You have a responsibility."

"To Dad and his crusade?," Scoffing, Sam shook his head, hazel eyes intense as he looked at his older brother, "If it weren't for pictures, I wouldn't even know what Mom looks like. What difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed her…," he fell quiet for a moment. He'd come to grips with their mother's death a long time ago but he knew Dean hadn't and likely never would, "Mom's gone, Dean, and she isn't coming back."

As soon as the words left Sam's mouth, Dean grabbed him by the front of his jacket and slammed him up against the metal strut not two feet from where Skye stood. Blanching, she shied away, spooked by the outburst. Eyes darting to Skye, Dean registered her reaction and immediately let go of Sam. Taking a step back, his tone softened, "Don't talk about her like that."

Rubbing a hand over his face, Sam took a deep breath and looked over at Skye as she briefly laid a reassuring hand on his arm, an offer of comfort that came as naturally to her as breathing.

"Sorry about that," Sam managed a strained smile.

"No worries, Andre."

Before either of them could say anything else, Dean spoke up, "Guys."

They looked at each other before turning toward Dean, walking over to him to find out what had caused the sense of urgency in his voice, Skye dwarfed by the two behemoths that stood on either side of her. Standing on the rail halfway down the bridge was a pretty young woman with long, dark hair. Barefoot and dressed all in white, she had a distinct air of despair around her. Slowly turning her head to look at them, she tipped forward, falling soundlessly into the darkness below. A strangled gasp escaped Skye's throat as the woman vanished over the side, the three of them sprinting to the rail and peering over, trying to catch a glimpse of her.

"Where'd she go?" Dean leaned further over the rail, trying to see into the water below. You'd think he'd be used to this kind of thing by now if his stories were to be believed, but even he seemed a little thunderstruck.

"I don't know."

"I think I do…," Skye spoke up as the Impala's headlights came on and the engine roared to life, shattering the stillness of the air around them.

Silhouetted in the blinding glare, Dean stood disbelieving, hands at his sides, "What the…"

"Dude, how's she driving your car?" Sam seemed just as floored as Dean. Seemed this was a new one on them. Guess not many spirits had a driver's license, probably didn't have insurance either. Or maybe just a really high deductible.

Digging his car keys out of his jacket pocket, Dean held them up for Sammy's inspection.

"Do ghosts need keys?" Skye asked, edging closer to the boys.

The squeal of tires split the air as whoever, or whatever, was driving hit the accelerator. As Skye's recent experience with Dean's driving could attest, this particular car could go from 0-60 real damn quick and it was aimed squarely at the three of them. Reacting without thinking, Dean grabbed Skye, spinning on a heel and shoving her hard to the opposite side of the bridge before he took off running.

Now, the boys probably could have dodged the car. It would have been the smarter move as even a pretty chunk of metal like the Impala couldn't turn on a dime and would have had a hard time reversing quick enough to catch them. But Constance only went after men. With the two of them making a run for it, there was little to no chance she'd stop long enough to even realize Skye was there. Running wasn't the smarter move, but it was the more selfless one.

The idiots.

Landing heavily, she skinned her hands and knees on the rough stones that peppered the bridge. But hey, better than the alternative. Skye pancakes didn't really sound all that tasty. Staggering to her feet, she turned in time to see both men vault over the rail and drop out of sight. Fear got her moving and she ran, booted feet clicking against the asphalt. For someone her size, she could move pretty damn fast when the need arose. Stopping at the spot where they'd gone over, the loose gravel rolling underfoot causing her to skid before she managed to regain her balance. Kneeling, her bruised knees protested as a tan cloth covered arm slithered into view. Sam had managed to grab onto a support, stopping himself from plummeting too far down.

Wanting to offer him a hand up, she knew she'd probably be more of a hindrance than a help, she simply wasn't physically strong enough. Not when the person she wanted to help was over twice her weight, anyway. Either way, it didn't take long before he was crouched next to her, both of them leaning out to see below them. Leaning out as far as she could without falling, her fingers tight on the edge of the bridge, they both called out in unison, Sam anxious and fear tying her own voice in knots, "Dean!"

Eyes straining, the two of them tried to spot him against the mud covered shore, hoping not to see him bobbing unconscious, or worse, in the water. Though even that would maybe be better than not seeing him at all if he were swept away by the rushing water. Dean's voice rose from the darkness, "Is that concern I hear, Tink? I must have hit my head, I'm hallucinating."

He could barely be seen laying on the gravel shore below. The dick actually sounded amused. Rocking back on her heels, her nostrils flared as she inched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. Laughing, incredulous, Sam leaned back and breathed a sigh of relief, "Yeah, he's fine."

"Oh I gathered," she sat for a long moment, elbows on bent knees as she tried not to show how shaky she was feeling, the aftereffects of the shot of adrenaline that had coursed through her system. The adrenaline that hadn't kicked in when the car had tried to run them down, oh no, the adrenaline that had shot through her when she'd seen Dean jump over the side of the damn bridge.

Fucker.

Standing slowly, she wiped her hands on her jeans. Brand new and they already had rips in the knees. Oh, and blood. Great. Looking at the palms of her hands she could see the tiny beads of crimson shining beneath the dim glare of the overheads. Ow. Well, tiny ow. Sighing, a ghost of a smile on her lips as Sam got to her feet, she pressed her sore hands against the cool metal of the rail, "Nope, still don't believe in spirits."

"You don't, huh?," Sam stared at her blankly, taking a little too long to realize she was being an ass," ...guess you can't be a Ghostbuster then."

"Who said I wanted to be? You don't," she leaned forward fingers wrapping around the rail, "I bet I'd make a pretty damn good one though, so Dean's loss."

He couldn't really argue with that, "True enough."

Leaning a hip against the strut next to him, he visually marked Deans slow progress up the hill, not bothering to hide his amusement as Dean kept sliding back down, "Why do you think you'd be a good Ghostbuster?"

"I do have some skills, you know," She crossed her arms, looking a little cocky, "I may not know a .45 Colt from a 9mm Taurus...okay well I do now actually….but I do have other talents."

Watching Deans take another four steps before sliding back two, she snickered and shook her head, "One step forward, three steps back. Story of my life. Should we go help him?"

"Fuck no," Sam laughed, "Maybe it'll give him some time to think. Now, what kind of Ghostbusting talents could you possibly have, Shortcake, you got me curious."

With a shrug, she didn't bother to answer him verbally. Planting her hands securely on the metal railing, she transferred her weight to her arms. Legs together, she slowly lifted them up and over into a full handstand. Probably not the smartest move with a good fifty feet of open air behind her but she was confident enough in her physical abilities to be a little foolhardy once in awhile. Slowly twisted at the waist, she lowered a booted foot onto the rail next to her and stood, one hand reaching out to the metal strut next to her as she smirked down at Sam, "Now who's short, Pipsqueak."

"Okay, that's a little impressive...now get down before you fall," He reached for her, concerned that she'd slip on the damp metal and plummet to her death.

"I won't," Letting go of the strut, she took the half dozen steps to the next one, balancing easily as if she'd done it a hundred times. Which she had. Balance beams, yo. Skye might not have any confidence in herself in general, but when it came to what she could physically do, she had no doubts whatsoever. Closing the distance between them, Sam was ready to try and catch her if she slipped, though the chances of him succeeding in that unlikely circumstance were not good.

"Quit worryin', Gigantor. "You think this is impressive, you should see what I can do on the uneven bars." Bending at the waist, she leaned down, placing both hands on the rail again as she lifted herself back into a handstand. Steadying herself, she slowly lifted her left hand, wiggling her fingers at an upside down Sam. Putting her hand back down and stood before jumping off the rail, barely managing a somersault before landing on her feet next to Sam. Smirking, she looked up at him as she wiped her hands on her jeans. They'd quit bleeding and she was able to ignore the sting quite handily. Handily. Heh. What a terrible sense of humor.

Stepping into view, Dean had made it up in time to see her showing off, "Ok, that was...kinda awesome...and stupid. Really fuckin' stupid."

Opening her mouth to make some sort of smartass reply, she closed it again as she and Sam got a good look at him. He was soaked and absolutely covered from head to toe in thick river mud. No wonder he'd kept slipping back down the hill, he had no traction.

"Not as stupid as you look right now, Rambo," Her voice faltered with the effort of holding back laughter. After all, he had just saved her life, the least she could do was not laugh. Holding her tongue altogether though was just too much to ask for, her head might actually explode if she tried, "Constance seems to be gone, we should probably check out the car."

Giving Dean a wide berth, the three of them made their way to where the dead woman had so considerately parked the car.

* * *

"You're a gymnast?" Dean asked casually as he popped the hood and studied the engine, as if he were making conversation and not as if he were at all actually interested in the answer. Hahaha. As if.

"No, actually." Sliding down the length of the car, she peered under the hood, Sam stepping around the car to do the same on the other side. Smiling, she leaned over with her forearms resting on the car, "I'm a dancer. Twice a week dance and gymnastics classes for the last sixteen years. The gymnastics being secondary."

"A gymnast and a dancer. Hmm. Interesting," Sam mimicked her position on the other side of the car, throwing his brother highly amused looks. He wasn't fooled for a second, Dean was  _very_  interested, "Handy skills to have. Sounds like an awfully busy schedule for a kid though."

"Pot meet kettle. I've heard stories about your childhood, you were just as busy," she looked down, studying the engine instead of meeting two sets of eyes, "...it was better than bein' at home."

It was obvious from the way she spoke that basically,  _anything_  was better than being at home, up to and including being a prisoner of war. It was also obvious that this wasn't a discussion she really wanted to continue.

"...so that means you're, like, real bendy doesn't it," Dean leered at her, purposefully exaggerating the expression to break the somber mood before it could take hold.

"Go figure that would be the part you focus on," Sam rolled his eyes so hard it was amazing they didn't stick that way, "Degenerate."

"Yeah, it means exactly that," She couldn't help but laugh, "I'm  _extremely_  flexible. Too bad you'll never find out exactly how 'bendy' I can be, Muckman."

On that note, she turned and walked away, content to go sit in the car until the boys decided everything was A-Okay and they could go.

Choking back a laugh, Sam heard Dean grouching under his breath, clearly not intending to be heard, "Son of a bitch."

Straightening as Dean closed the hood, leaving muddy fingerprints everywhere, Sam asked as he tried to stay upwind, "Car alright?"

"Yeah, whatever she did to it, it seems fine now. That Constance chick, what BITCH," Dean yelled out the last word, half-hoping Constance would hear it, wherever the fuck she was.

"Well, she doesn't want us digging around, that's for sure," Crossing his arms, Sam leaned back against the car next to his brother, "So where's the trail go from here, genius?"

Raising a hand, flinging bits of mud everywhere in frustration, Dean had to admit he didn't know.

Sniffing, Sam wrinkled his nose and looked at his brother, "You smell like a toilet."

Looking down at himself, clothing caked with mud and grime and God knew what else…,"Yup, I do."

Sighing heavily, he waved for Sammy to get in the car, "Come on, man, our next port of call is somewhere with a goddamn shower."

Cringing internally at the thought of the smell seeping into the seats, he went around to the trunk to grab the tarp he kept back there, not wanting to get this slime all over the interior. This certainly wasn't the first time he'd ended up covered in something disgusting and it surely wouldn't be the last.


	7. Chapter 6

"Oh darlin', it's just what I've always wanted. Bedbugs, fleas and dust mites, oh my!" Pulling into the parking lot of the closest craptacular motel twenty minutes later, Skye spoke up for the first time since they'd left the bridge. As if she hadn't been daydreaming of a hot shower most of the day. Grabbing her knapsack she flung open the door, escaping the confines of the car before he'd even shifted into park. Sniffing herself, she couldn't tell if the smell had burrowed into her or not. Ugh.

Following as quickly as possible, Sam jumped out of the car, getting away from the stench emanating from Dean. Hell, if Dean could have run away from himself, he probably would have. Sliding out of the car, literally, he trudged to the front office, his unwilling companions in tow.

A buzzer went off as they opened the door and filed inside, alerting the desk manager to their presence. Not that he needed alerting considering he was standing right there. Looking somewhere between ancient and dead, the old man's wrinkled face was delightfully unconcerned at Dean tracking sludge into his clean lobby. Shabby, sure, but clean. Retrieving his now soggy wallet, Dean let out a deep sigh when it squished, dripping everywhere. Digging out the fraudulent credit card with the name 'Hector Aframian' across the front, he tossed it onto the log book that occupied the majority of the counter space, "One room, please. Two beds."

Picking up the card reluctantly with two fingers, the elderly gentleman glanced at it, "You guys having a reunion or something?

Dean's expression sharpened to one of actual interest as Sam spoke up, "What do you mean?"

"The other guy, Burt Aframian, he came in and bought out a room for the whole month."

Exchanging a look, the boys were struck momentarily speechless, a first in Skye's experience.

"Yeah, that'd be our Dad," approaching the counter, Skye leaned against it, knapsack pulled tight over her shoulder as she smiled and held out her hand for their room key, "Can you tell us what room he's in, please?"

The geriatric gentleman dropped the key into the palm of her hand after he ran the card, "Sure, no skin off my nose," he pointed in the general direction of the room John had paid for, "It's room 10, just over there. Can't give you the key though, against policy."

Closing her fingers around the key, she didn't seem too upset about that. Because a locked door would keep them out. Sure, "That's alright. We'll head over there after my brother takes a shower, see if Dad's in for the night. He keeps odd hours, if you hadn't noticed."

She started to turn away from the clerk, Sam and Dean waiting for her at the door before the old man caught her attention. Lowering his voice, he asked, "What the hell'd your brother get into?"

"He got into a fight with a port-a-potty...and lost," She smirked, tapping a finger to her temple, "He's a few sandwiches short of a picnic, if you get my drift."

The old man nodded in understanding as she made her escape, edging around Dean as he held the door for her and Sam. Looking down at her after they'd gotten outside, Dean grimaced, "A port-a-potty. Really, Tink?"

"Here, Hector, you paid for the room after all," she held the key out to him, dropping it into his outstretched palm as Sam went to find room 10, "Are you really bothered more by the port-a-potty comment than by the fact I implied you were feeble-minded? Your priorities are skewed, Swamp Thing."

Bickering back and forth as they crossed the parking lot to join Sam, they looked up when he spoke, amused but impatient, "You two fight like an old married couple."

They turned on Sam, both looking supremely insulted, responding in unison, "We do not."

"Sure you don't," He smiled widely before kneeling in front of the door to John's room, weight resting on one knee as he fiddled with the lock. Dean leaned against the wall next to him as Skye watched over Sam's shoulder.

"Can you teach me how to do that?," Not that she had any interest in becoming a felonious member of Team Psycho. Nope. None at all.

The lock issued a faint click, "Yes, but I'm not going to be around long enough, remember? You'll have to ask Dean."

"I'll just find an instruction book, thanks."

Standing, Sam twisted the knob and pushed open the door, stepping inside with Skye a step behind. Reaching back out, he grabbed an oblivious Dean by the shoulders and yanked him inside, closing the door behind him.

* * *

The inside of the motel room seemed chaotic to Skye, though undoubtedly there was some kind of system to it. The walls were plastered with various papers, maps and pictures. The bed was rumpled, items strewn across the duvet in haphazard fashion, including an open suitcase and a yellow plastic container that she could swear had a radiation symbol on it. That was reassuring. Stepping across the room, Dean turned on a lamp, lending a little illumination to the situation. Holding out a hand, Sam pointed downward, bringing Skye's attention to the tripwire John had set up.

"...paranoia, paranoia, everybody's comin' to get me…," she sang under her breath, setting her bag down by the door after making sure it wouldn't disturb anything.

Making a face that suggested mute agreement to her choice of song lyrics, Sam watched as Dean picked up a half-eaten burger that had been left carelessly on the base of the lamp. Dean wrinkled his nose, though how he could smell anything over himself was anyone's guess, "I don't think he's been here for a couple days, at least."

Kneeling, Sam picked up a white substance that was spread in a thick line around the room, letting it run through his fingers, "Salt, cats-eye shells...he was worried, trying to keep something from coming in."

"Salt and cats-eye shells?" Skye turned from where she'd been examining some of the papers on the wall behind the door, hands in her pockets to avoid touching anything that might possibly explode. Not exactly outside of the realm of possibility here, "What is a cats-eye shell?"

Answering absently, Dean stepped closer to one of the walls, eyes roving over the map pinned there, "Salt wards off spirits. It's a purifying element, like fire, they can't cross it. Cats-eye shells are typically used for protection against the evil eye."

"They're also used in gris-gris bags," Sam added.

Nope, she wasn't out of her depth here at all. Denial really wasn't just a river in Egypt, as Sam had pointed out earlier. Nodding slowly, she reached up to tug on the end of her braid, "And gris-gris bags are…?"

"A small bag that contains items used for spells and stuff, usually by someone that practices hoodoo," Dean answered again before looking over at her, "If we have to sit and answer your stupid questions all night, we'll never find anything useful."

"No such thing as a stupid question, asshole," she pulled her hands out of her pockets, clasping them behind her back as she stepped slowly along behind Dean, skimming the pages tacked to the wall, "If you don't ask, you don't learn."

"She's not wrong," Sam agreed with the sentiment. He was all about knowledge and it seemed she may be a kindred spirit in that respect. He didn't curse as much though.

"And yet she's never right," Dean threw out the insult as if it were second nature, which at this point in their rocky relationship it probably was.

"You two ever stop sniping at each other long enough to eat or sleep?"

"No," again in unison, followed by shooting each other dirty looks.

Seriously, it was so obvious it was a wonder strangers weren't stopping them on the street to urge them to get a damn room. Sam wasn't quite sure how much longer they could keep this up without one of them killing the other. Stepping across the small space, careful to avoid traps, salt, and shells, Sam asked, "What do you got here?"

"Centennial Highway victims, looks like," Skye answered, turning her head to look up at him, a friendly smile on her lips. She really did seem a little more comfortable the last hour or two. Amazing what a simple change of clothes could do.

Absently nodding agreement before speaking up, Dean taped one of the pages on the wall, leaving a grimy smear, "I don't get it though. I mean, different men. Different jobs. Different ages and ethnicities. There's always a connection, right? What do these guys have in common?"

"Ethnicities. Big word there, Dean. You get a word of the day calendar for Christmas?" She moved around him to stand by Sam, "Maybe she's just really not picky, in which case, you may actually have a shot."

Sam ignored their squabbling, staying quiet for several minutes, his gaze moving slowly along the pages on the walls as he skipped the copious amounts of information John had put together. He stopped when he read the words 'Woman in White'. Moving closer to get a better look, he turned on a lamp that was positioned near the wall, illuminating an illustration of a woman in a white dress. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, "Dad figured it out."

The two quarreling children turned toward him, interrupting a "discussion" they'd been having regarding the deplorable hygiene and sexual habits of each others ancestors, "What do you mean?"

Moving out of the way so Dean could take a closer look, Skye followed along as Sam pointed out the article on the wall. He sounded oddly frustrated, yet proud, as if he were upset that he hadn't figured it out, irritated that John had, but still proud of his father in spite of everything. A pretty accurate synopsis, really. "He found the same article we did. Constance Welch. She's a Woman in White."

Turning back toward the wall with the articles about the missing victims, Dean shook his head, "You sly dogs."

Crossing her arms, a blank look on her face, Skye was forced to ask, "If someone could, you know, clue me in...that'd be great. Aside from the fact that Constance was literally wearing white, what the hell is a 'Woman in White'?"

Smiling down at her, Sam was more than happy to answer, "A Woman in White is a woman whose husband, or boyfriend I'd assume, cheated on her. In grief or maybe a bout of temporary insanity, they kill their children and then themselves. They then turn into angry spirits, "Women in White", that target cheating men."

"You'd really think dead people could find better things to do with their time," she hesitated a moment before stepping over and sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb anything, "Does that mean you guys owe me dinner?"

Dean made a rude noise in the back of his throat, "No."

She was pretty sure he was lying and totally owed her dinner.

Sam was pretty sure Dean wouldn't actually mind taking her to dinner.

"Alright, so if we're dealing with a Woman in White, Dad would've found the corpse and destroyed it," Dean scratched at the back of his neck, little puffs of dirt clouds rising when he moved, uncomfortably itchy from the drying mud.

"Maybe, I'll get back to you on that, Little Bit," Sam temporized before turning to his brother, "She may have another weakness."

Before either of them could say anything else, Skye raised her hand, waiting with something that resembled patience for one of them to notice. Turning toward her, patience most definitely not being his virtue, Dean managed to keep his tone level instead if yelling. Mocking, certainly, but level, "What, Skye? Do you need to go potty?"

Giving him a dismissive look, she pointed out, "Just because you guys know all this information doesn't mean everyone does. In fact, I think it's safe to say you're in the minority," leaning forward, her arms on her knees, she spoke as if explaining something to someone with the IQ of a potato, "Don't you think it's a good idea for me to know this too? If I'm going to be here for however, long, learning all I can is the smart move, right?"

"Besides, learning is fun," she clasped her hands together, a disturbingly cheerful and extremely fake smile on her lips. She emphasized his name like it was a much ruder four letter word. "I don't really have the patience or the crayons to explain to you why learning as much as possible is the intelligent way to go,  _Dean_."

The muscle in his jaw worked as he ground his teeth, giving her a stony glare. Seriously, how had he not cracked a tooth yet. Sam, however, seemed to agree with Skye, answering the question she hadn't yet asked, "You salt and burn a corpse, or bones, to put a spirit to rest."

"Salt and fire being purifiers and a spirit being ostensibly unclean."

"Exactly so," Sam seemed almost proud of her, "You're a quick study. You know, given half a chance, I think you'd be pretty good at this."

"Yes, I am, and no, I wouldn't," though she'd just said, not even two hours ago, that she would make an excellent Ghostbuster. Fickle woman.

"But thank you," she smiled," I'll take the compliment in the spirit in which it was intended. This would go a lot faster if I could just check out a book at the library and catch up on all the shit you guys already know."

Crossing the room to stand in front of his brother, Dean turned his back on Skye and resumed the conversation as if she hadn't interrupted, "Dad would want to be sure, he'd dig her up. Does it say where she's buried?"

Shoulders twitching as Skye muttered something about his line of work being oh so glamorous, he didn't acknowledge her in any other way.

"Not that I can tell," Sam crossed his arms, shaking his head, "If I were Dad though, I'd go ask her husband, if he's still alive."

"Not to interrupt yet again, as I know how aggravating that can be," her voice dripped faux-regret, "I'd like to point out that most graveyards keep records of who's buried in what plot. You know, just sayin'. If she's buried in one in town, wouldn't be too hard to find out."

Ignoring her as expected, Dean continued as if she weren't there and hadn't spoken, "Why don't you see if you can find an address. I'm gonna get cleaned up."

Moving stiffly, a puff of dirt following him around like Pig-Pen, he went out to the car to grab a change of clothes, re-entering a couple of minutes later and heading toward the bathroom for a desperately needed shower. Stopping him before he stepped out of the room, Sam called out, "Hey Dean, about what I said earlier about Mom and Dad...I'm sorry." He didn't like the tension between him and his brother and was anxious to put it to rest.

Almost smiling as he looked over at Sam, Dean held out a hand to stop him, "No chick flick moments."

Laughing, Sam agreed, "Alright. Jerk."

"Bitch."

All was forgiven as Dean vanished into the bathroom.

* * *

"Well thank God for that, I hate chick flicks. I can think of more accurate things to call him though, jerk seems a little mild," Skye leaned back, cautiously moving things out of the way before laying down with her hands laced behind her head.

"Oh I have no doubt," Sam looked over at her before resuming his slow walk around the room, still examining the articles on the walls, "Why don't you two get along, exactly? I mean, you seem to have a lot in common from what I can tell."

"Why Sam, how could you? I thought we were friends." Making a vague noise of dismay, she lifted her head to give him a look intended to strike fear into the hearts of lesser men. It wouldn't have, of course, but a girl could try. Wiping away an imaginary tear, she sniffed, "I don't think I've ever been so insulted...and trust me when I say that's sayin' a lot."

"See, that's what I mean. You're both sarcastic, cynical, stubborn smartasses with half your vocabulary taken up with curse words. Not that that's a bad thing, but hey, just calling a spade a spade here." Grinning, Sam spoke to her over his shoulder as he continued to examine the papers on the wall. Pausing in front of the mirror, he fell quiet for a second as he reached out to remove something from it, a smile on his lips. Turning, he crossed the distance in two strides to perch on the edge of the bed next to her, just far enough to not encroach on her self-imposed personal bubble, turning serious, "Really, Skye, why are you so hard on him? He's really not a bad guy."

Like he didn't already know the answer.

"'Cause he's a dick." Okay, admittedly that was just a knee jerk reaction. She looked up at Sam, sitting up slowly. Pulling a knee up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her leg and rested her chin on her knee, "I like you, Sam. You seem like a good guy. Real answer?"

"You don't have to but...yeah, if you're up to giving me something that's not all sarcasm."

She looked at him for a long moment, hesitating to speak what was really on her mind. She didn't open up easily or quickly, or really ever at all, and she'd only known Sam for about two seconds but...something prompted her to give an honest answer, to trust him just a little. In spite of years of proof that trusting people was a horrible idea. That alone spoke volumes for the guy.

"Alright. Seriously then," she tilted her head forward, rubbing the tip of her nose on the dirty knee of her jeans, "I know he's not a bad guy, Sam. I mean yeah, he's a dick, but I'm perfectly aware I snipe at him just as much as he does me."

Sitting patiently, Sam let her talk, realizing that having an actual conversation with someone seemed inordinately difficult for her. It was more than a little surprising to him that she was willing to open up at all considering they barely knew each other. But maybe that was why. Come Monday, he'd be out of her life so maybe it was almost safe to talk to him. Or something. Psychology wasn't his forte. Her expression softened as she let down the masks she kept so carefully in place, warm brown eyes watching him, the real Skye looking even younger than her eighteen years. Jesus, she really was just a kid. What was Dean getting himself into? If this was going to go anywhere, and Sam had absolutely no doubt that it would, Dean was going to have to handle her with kid gloves. Not exactly his specialty.

Finally organizing her thoughts well enough to speak them, she sighed, "He's dangerous, Sam."

Not the reply he'd been expecting, "He'd never hurt you, Skye."

"Not-," she smiled. No sarcasm, no snark, just a smile, "Not what I meant."

Studying a mote of dust intently, she let that sink in, realization slowly dawning on Sam's face. Not that kind of dangerous. Ha! She really did like him too. For a second, Sam felt like the matchmaker from Mulan, only prettier and with better hair.

"I've spent the last week two feet away from the man, Sam. I know he's a good guy. I can see that, I'm not blind. He's a good  _man_ , though I have no doubt he'd deny that," she pulled her other knee up to her chest, wrapping her arms around both legs and clasping her hands in front of her, "He's also, on occasion, thoughtful. Smart. Funny. Good taste in music...don't you dare tell him I said that...and he's almost as good lookin' as he thinks he is. So yeah...he's dangerous."

"Alright, I think I get it now. Hurt before you get hurt, right?" It surely didn't help anything that Dean had been wavering between biting her head off and doing sweet little things, like remembering she liked Juicy Fruit and giving her his jacket. The girl was already so turned around...he'd have to talk to his brother, get him to cool his jets.

"Something like that, yeah."

"Okay, fair enough, except...you guys are stuck with each other," he stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankle, "Wouldn't it be a little more pleasant if you weren't fighting 24/7? You could be friends. Or at least civil. I'm willing to bet that under the cursing and the denim, you're actually a pretty nice person."

Poking her knee with the picture in his hand, he smiled, "And do you really need any more stress than you've already got?"

"Alright," she laughed, echoing his earlier statement, "Fair enough. I guess I can try to ease off. If he does. He really is a dick."

Sam couldn't bring himself to disagree. Pointing at the picture, Skye asked, "What'd you find?"

Taking the hint, he changed the subject, holding out the picture for her to examine, "This is the guy we're looking for."

"This is your Dad?," she took the picture, examining it closely, "So the good looks are genetic. The rugrats are you and Dean then."

"Yup," Sam smiled at the compliment, "I was maybe four or five? Not real sure."

"You guys were adorable. It is nice to know who I'm lookin' for," she handed it back, dropping her feet to the floor and leaning forward, elbows on her thighs, chin propped in the palm of her hand, "I'm not gettin' decent sleep anytime soon, am I."

"Yeah, probably not," Sam shrugged, "You'll get used to it. Eventually."

"I don't wanna get used to it, Sam," she shook her head, a frustrated look on her fact, "I wanna go back to my boring ass, broke ass life."

Except..did she?

Did she really?

There was nothing for her back in Louisiana. Hell, she didn't even  _like_  Louisiana. She could always go back to Oklahoma, she supposed, her Grandmother still owned the house there but really there wasn't anything for her there either. She had no friends, a temporary job, and no family except for one old woman who didn't even know how to dress herself anymore so...why was she so anxious to go back?

Frowning, she pushed those thoughts away. Of course, she wanted to go back, to pick up a normal life. Who in their right mind would choose to live a life on the road, stuck in a car for days at a time, taking a break only long enough to try and get killed by the monster of the week?

Dean was a case in point as he obviously wasn't in his right mind. Even Sam got away, going to Stanford to fight for that normal life.

"Speaking of," Sam pulled his phone out of his pocket and flipped it open, "Okay with you if I check my messages? Jess is probably worried sick. I should probably call her, but she'll be in class right now."

"Of course I don't mind, why would I?," she wrinkled her nose at the ridiculousness of such a question, "But hey, now that you mention it, can I use your phone when you're done?"

"Sure, no problem," Sam agreed, dialing his voicemail and putting in his passcode. 0124. Jess's birthday, and Dean's too, actually.

Leaning forward, phone to his ear as the first message played, just loud enough for Skye to hear.

' _Hey, it's me. It's about 10:20. I just wanted to call and see if you were okay. I know you're probably busy but I miss you. Call me back as soon as you can. And Sam? Be safe, alright? I love you. I'll talk to you later.'_

Smiling, Sam hit 'save' on the message, closing the flip phone and tossing it to Skye.

Catching it easily, she raised a brow, "You're not gonna call and leave a message for her, let her know you're breathin'?"

"Nah," Sam shook his head, "I'll call her here in a bit when I can actually talk to her."

Flipping the phone open, she started to dial a number from memory before hesitating and looking back up at Sam, "It's long distance. That okay?"

"I kind of assumed, Skye," Sam laughed, "Who would you know in California? But yeah, that's fine, don't worry about it. Thanks for checking though."

Hitting the 'call' button, Sam heard someone pick up after just a couple of rings, answering 'Shady Pines Assisted Living Facility, how may I direct your call?'

"Yes, I'm calling to check on Beatrice Bleu, can you tell me how she's doing today?," Skye paced around the room during the call, though careful not to step on any of John's various implements.

It was several minutes before she was finished, transferring a couple of times and at one point talking to someone like she'd talk to a small child. Her grandmother, if Sam had caught it correctly.

Ending the call, she closed her eyes for a second, looking drained and sad before forcing a smile and handing Sam his phone back, "Thanks, Sam. I appreciate it."

"Any time. Can I ask…?" he trailed off, leaving the question open.

"Yeah uh...my Grandma's in a nursing home outside of New Orleans. It's why we moved there, actually. They specialize in nutcases," she tugged on the end of her braid, smiling sadly as she made a joke out of her own pain, "She's got Alzheimer's. She was diagnosed about four years ago and it's gettin' pretty bad. She was pretty coherent today, actually. Apparently, she spent the day going dancing with my Grandfather...who died before I was born."

"I'm sorry to hear that. That just...sucks," He offered her a seat on the bed next to him, "You want to talk about it?"

Shaking her head, she took the offered seat, "Nah, I'm good. Thanks though."

"Alright. But...did I hear your last name is Bleu?," the corners of his lips twitched, "Your name is Skye Bleu?"

The bathroom door opened as Skye groaned, "I try not to think about it if I can help it. To make it worse, my middle name is Summer."

Emerging from the bathroom, towel in hand, Dean looked much better. Probably smelled better too, though she wasn't about to go sniff him.

"What was that I just heard?," he laughed, "Your name is Skye Bleu? Skye Summer Bleu? Oh that is fantastic."

The look on her face just made him laugh harder, because, like she said earlier, he was a DICK. Leaning back, Sam grabbed a pillow off the head of the bed and threw it at him, "It's not that funny. Besides, how did you not know her last name? Haven't you been hanging out constantly for more than a week now?"

"Yeah well, it didn't come up," The vague guilt in his voice wiped away his amusement as he shrugged into a leather jacket Skye hadn't seen before, "I'm hungry, I'm gonna head to that diner down the street. You guys comin'?

Shaking his head, Sam declined the invitation, "I think I'll look around here some more, maybe catch a quick nap."

"Skye? Aframians buyin'."

"Yeah actually, I'd love to. I'm starving," she held up a hand, "Think you could give me like ten minutes first? You're not the only one in that could use a shower."

That vague guilt deepened, though he smothered it pretty damn quick, "Yeah, sure, just don't take forever."

Dropping down to sit on the bed next to Sam, he already looked impatient.

Grabbing her bag from where she'd left it by the door, she headed for the bathroom, stopping short when Dean called her name. Turning, she caught the towel he threw at her.

"You're gonna want that, it was the last clean one."

"Great," Sighing yet again, she disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of the shower following soon after.

* * *

Giving his brother a long look, long enough to make Dean start to wonder what the hell he was staring at, Sam finally spoke up, "So Dean, about this little crush of yours-"

"I do not have a 'crush', Sam. What are you, twelve?" he interrupted, running a hand through his damp hair. He was tired and hungry and did not need this right now, "Don't start with this shit again."

"Calm down. Let me finish," Sam held his hands out in a conciliatory gesture. He wasn't about to betray any confidences, but he could certainly try and steer things in the right direction, "Look, I don't know why you're being so hostile about it exactly, but I can guess. It's either because you are in fact an emotionally stunted man-child or because, in that warped little brain of yours, you think you'll keep her at arms length then break the curse and send her on her way so no one gets hurt."

A little of column A, a little of column B.

A pretty astute assessment, but then, Sam wasn't exactly stupid and he knew his brother entirely too well, "Either way, do me a favor and ease off a little, okay? The two of you are giving me a headache the size of Montana. You guys are going to be stuck together for God knows how long. Being civil won't kill you."

...matchmaker matchmaker make me a match…

'I am not an emotionally stunted man-child, you unkempt freak of nature," Which is exactly what an emotionally stunted man-child would say, "...but you're not wrong. I'll chill if she does. Which, you know, good luck with that. I don't think she's physically capable of not mouthing off at least once every ten minutes."


	8. Chapter 7

Feeling loads better, she emerged from the bathroom just over twenty minutes later dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a new tank-top, this one reading 'Tell Me Not To Do Something And I'll Do It Twice And Take Pictures'. Not far from the truth, really. Dean pointedly checked his clunky black watch, "That wasn't ten minutes."

Idly flashing Dean a grand view of her middle finger, Skye sat down to pull on her boots over a lovely pair of blue socks with little starbursts on them, cursive script running around them reading 'Carpe The Fuck Out Of This Diem', giving Sam a look that stated clear as day 'See, he's a dick'. Sam passed on that look to Dean as 'Dude, stop being a dick'. Dean didn't notice, too busy wondering how she found clothing as mouthy as she was.

Standing, Skye dug a hairbrush out of her bag, unaware Dean was watching her and pretending not to. Sam, however, missed nothing. ...and he also wondered how she found clothing as mouthy as she was. They were like a couple of teenagers trying not to get caught staring at each other in Study Hall. He was half glad, half regretful that he'd be going home soon and wouldn't get to see how this developed. It was a toss-up between whether they'd kill each other or kiss each other and neither outcome would surprise him.

This was the first time Dean had seen her hair down. It was longer than he'd expected, falling almost to her waist. When dry, it was almost as shiny as Sam's lustrous locks. It'd only been a week and he was already finding long stray hairs in places they had no business being. Just yesterday there'd been one in the ammo bag in the trunk. He knew she hadn't touched it, so how the hell did that even happen? Pulling himself out of his own thoughts before she caught him staring, he looked anywhere but at her.

Twisting her hair into a thick braid, she patted it into place over her left shoulder before grabbing her bag and looking at Dean, "Alright, you ready?"

Getting to his feet, Dean looked down at his brother, "You sure you ain't comin'?"

Flipping a hand at them, Sam waved them away, "Nah, I'm good. Not really in the mood for cholesterol on a bun."

Wiggling her fingers at him, Skye smirked, "Have fun. I think Skin-A-Max is channel 24."

Sam repeated Skye's earlier rude hand gesture as she stepped out the door Dean held open for her, looking up at him as she passed, "Nice jacket, old man."

It was, too. Comfortably worn leather that still had that subtle leather smell. It suited him. Stepping around her, hands in his jacket pockets as he skipped down the steps to the parking lot, "Just because you're a child does not make me old."

"Matter of opinion I suppose, Grandpa," She smiled, falling into step beside him, right hand holding the strap of her bag, left hand tucked in the pocket of her denim jacket.

They were almost to the car when Dean stopped short, holding an arm out in front of Skye, stopping her in her tracks as he looked in the opposite direction, "Shit."

Leaning out to look past him, she saw a cop car and two uniformed officers talking to the old man from the front office. The old man who lifted a finger and pointed directly at them.

Oh gee, thanks old dude, much appreciated.

Grabbing his phone out of his pocket, Dean flipped it open and dialed Sammy's number as Skye took the opportunity to throw her bag in the back of the car before stepping up next to Dean, close enough to hear Sam on the other end, much to Dean's annoyance.

" _What_?" Sam answered on the first ring.

"Dude, five-o, take off," Dean certainly knew when not to waste words.

" _What about you guys_?"

"Uh, they kinda spotted us. Go find Dad," Dean snapped the phone closed and stuffed it back in his pocket, swinging around to face the officers that had approached while he'd been talking.

Skye took half a step back as Dean moved in front of her, positioning himself between her and the cops without consciously deciding to do so.

Dredging up a charming smile, nonchalant, he asked, "Problem, officers?"

Officer Franks, the officer Sam and Dean had spoken with earlier at the bridge, looked none too happy to see them. Crossing his arms, he looked down his nose at the two, a difficult feat when Dean was a good three inches taller, "Where's your partner?"

"Partner?," Dean shrugged, a bewildered look popping up, that smile still on his lips, "What partner?"

Franks gestured for the officer behind him to go check the motel before turning his attention to Skye, "And who are you, kid? You going to tell me where the other guy is?"

Stepping aside, Dean crossed his arms, interested to see how she handled the situation. Instantly, her demeanor changed, going from mouthy stubborn bitch to a quiet submissive kid that looked a good three years younger than she was. Her eyes widened, features rearranging into a look of pure innocence as she shrugged helplessly, looking up at the officer, "I...I don't know."

Oh damn, give the girl an Oscar. Dean tried not to look impressed.

"Of course you don't," Franks sighed and shook his head, one hand hovering near his handcuffs as he turned his attention back to Dean, "What are you doing running around with some kid? And the fake badges and fake credit cards. You got anything that's real, boy?"

Pausing as if giving the question some serious thought, Dean nodded slowly, "My boobs. Probably hers too."

Ducking her head and biting her lip hard, she forced back a smile. It wouldn't do to let Officer Franks see her laughing at that. Smartass probably wasn't the way to go right now, but dammit, that was funny. Franks didn't appear to think so, sucking his teeth as he removed a set of cuffs from his utility belt, "I thought as much," Gesturing to his partner, Officer Addams by the name on the badge, he directed him to take care of Skye, "Cuff her too, we'll sort her out at the station."

Oh grand.

"Hands behind your backs," he motioned for the two of them to turn around, "Don't be stupid."

Turning obediently, Skye held her hands behind her back, watching Dean out of the corner of her eye. Addams cuffed her quickly but wasn't any more rough than he needed to be at least. Dean on the other hand...Officer Franks had run out of patience with him, probably before they'd even got to the motel, and was none too gentle with his treatment. She could clearly see Dean's face as he was slammed against the hood of the car, hands behind his back as the click of the cuffs signaled his loss of freedom. He was smiling. He was actually smiling. Dude really was crazy.

Officer Franks read them both their Miranda rights. 'You have the right to remain silent' etc etc yadda yadda yadda. Nothing you didn't see on TV five times a day. Addams held her upper arm as he escorted Skye to the squad car. Behind her, she could hear Dean protesting, anger shading his voice, "Dude, she doesn't like bein' touched."

Aww. You'd almost think he actually cared. The officer ignored him, of course, as he opened the back door for her to slide in. Playing meek, she did as expected, getting into the backseat with no trouble and leaning back as Addams shut the door. Leaning her forehead against the cold glass of the window, she watched them walk Dean around to the other side, shoving him into the backseat much less gently than they had her.

"They are nice boobs, Dean. Glad to know they're real," she kept her head down, turning toward him so only he could see the grin on her face as she teased him, "You're having entirely too much fun with this, you fruitcake."

"Gee, thanks Tink. Glad you like 'em. You should see 'em in a push-up bra," the sass was strong with this one. Dean leaned back, shifting to get comfortable with this hands behind his back, looking positively gleeful, "Nice performance, by the way. Who knew you could be quiet that long."

Really, he was just happy Sammy had gotten away. He knew he'd get out of this and, one way or another, he'd get Skye out too if he had to.

"You are touched in the head, Wi-" she cut herself off, deciding against using his real name. Probably a smart move on her part.

"You have to learn to enjoy these little moments in life, Tinkerbell," he winked at her. Actually winked. She wondered if she could talk Franks into giving him a 72 hour psych hold, at the very least.

"You should re-" she didn't finish whatever she'd been about to say, falling silent and dropping her head down as the front doors opened and both officers got in the car.

Franks spoke up from the driver's seat, looking at them over his shoulder, "You two behaving back there? Good. Let's keep it that way."

Starting the car, the static of the police band radio filling the small space with number codes Skye didn't know the meaning of...she made a mental note to learn them as soon as possible, just in case it was relevant in the future. She had the feeling it might be.

Sigh.

Was...was Dean humming the Cops theme song?

….for fucks sake.


	9. Chapter 8

Sam slipped out the bathroom window as soon as he'd Dean had hung up. This wasn't exactly the first time he'd had to do something like this but here's to hoping it'd be the last. Yeah...right.

He went three blocks before stopping to find a pay phone, thankfully the phone book was still attached. With a little luck, Joseph Welch would be listed with a current address. Not that luck was usually on his side, as evidenced by the fact that he'd just crawled out a damn bathroom window. Of course, maybe today was his day after all. It only took a minute to find the name, there was only one listing. Memorizing the address, Sam stepped out of the phone booth, taking a quick look around for any possible police presence. It shouldn't be too long before the motel was clear and he could go back for the car. Well, hopefully.

Fuck it. He was hungry. Might as well kill a few minutes. Spotting a coffee shop down the block, he stepped inside, coming back out with a bag of muffins and a large coffee.

Walking slowly to the motel, he took the time to eat the sesame seed muffins he'd ordered, tossing the empty bag and wrappers into a trash can on the corner. Finding a spot across from the motel with a clear view of the parking lot, he settled down to wait. Sipping his coffee, he was clearly in no hurry to rush in and get arrested if law enforcement was still watching the place. After a good forty minutes he was confident enough to retrieve the Impala. Hurrying across the road, he knelt next to the door, jimmying the lock and sliding into the driver's seat. He didn't have a key and no way a guy like Dean would leave a hide-a-key for some rando to find, but he could hotwire it easily enough. His brother wasn't the only felon in the family and hey, this is the car he'd learned to hotwire on, he could do it in his sleep. And probably had, at some point.

Within ten minutes, he was on the road, heading out to talk to Joseph Welch to try and locate where Constance was buried. Good times. ...Not. Turning on the radio, he made a face and ejected the tape in the deck Dean had been listening to, tossing it onto the seat beside him before tuning the radio dial to something that didn't involve a hair band.

'I Am A Man Of Constant Sorrow' by the Soggy Bottom Boys spilled out of the speakers as Sam tapped his thumb to the music, humming along as the scenery passed quickly outside the window. Dean wasn't the only one that drove over the speed limit, though he was the only one willing to do more than thirty over the speed limit. Slowling, he eventually found the address he was looking for. Pulling into what looked to be a junkyard, he shut the car off and stepped out, unfolding all 6'5" before making his way to the ramshackle house in the middle of the property.

Rapping his knuckles on the warped wood of the door, he waited to see if someone was home. It wasn't a long wait. Pulling the door open and peering out suspiciously was an older man, maybe early 50's, wearing a dirty white t-shirt, jeans and a plaid button-up. The smell of motor and grease was overwhelming, enough to make you dizzy. Clearing his throat, Sam smiled awkwardly, "Hi, uh, are you Joseph Welch?"

Nodding cautiously, like he was expecting Sam to be a bill collector, he narrowed his eyes, "Yeah. Something I can do for you?"

Holding out his hand, Sam made up a name on the spot, "My name is Daniel Travers, I'm with the Jericho Herald. I was wondering if maybe I could ask you a few questions."

"Well yeah," Joseph gave 'Daniel's' hand a quick shake before stepping out and pulling the door closed behind him, "I guess that'd be alright."

Pulling the old photo of him, John and Dean out of his pocket, he held it out for inspection, "Has this man been out to see you yet?"

"Yeah," Joseph confirmed, sucking his teeth, "He was older, but that's him. Came by about three or four days ago, said he was a reporter."

"That's right," Sam confirmed, tapping the picture against his free hand, trying to look as honest and trustworthy as possible. Not too difficult when you looked like an overgrown sheepdog, "We're working on a story together."

"Well, I don't know what the hell kinda story you're workin' on," Joseph's eyes, shaded by the ballcap on his head, narrowed as he looked up at the taller man, "The kindsa questions he was askin' me."

Taking the opportunity to steer the conversation in the direction he needed it to go, Sam asked, needing confirmation, "About your late wife, Constance?"

Giving a terse nod, Joseph seemed none too happy about it, "He asked me where she was buried."

Stopping in his tracks and turning to Joseph, Sam smiled. This was the information he needed to put the bitch down, "And where is that again?"

"What, I gotta go through this twice?" he sounded annoyed, not wanting to have to talk about this with anyone, especially some young upstart that just showed up on his doorstep out of nowhere.

"It's fact-checking," Sam smiled apologetically, "If you don't mind."

"In a plot behind my old place," Joseph sighed, resigning himself to rehashing the details he'd already given once, "Over on Breckenridge."

Unfortunately, Sam had to ask a few more questions, more to give credence to his false identity as a reporter than anything but still, any info he could gather was all to the good, "Why did you move?"

Joseph's voice turned thick, strained, still broken up about over it all these years later, "I'm not gonna live in the house where my children died."

The death of your kids was something you never got over, no matter how much time had passed.

"Mr. Welch, did you ever marry again?"

"No way. Constance, she was the love of my life. Prettiest woman I ever known," Even with his wife dead all these years, he still seemed proud that he'd married someone as lovely as she had been. Sam had to agree, even dead, the girl had been very attractive. Couldn't quite say that out loud though, now could he.

Trying to keep the doubt out of his voice and only partially succeeding, Sam asked the real question, second in importance only to the 'where is she buried so I can dig her up and set her on fire' question, "So you had a happy marriage?"

Taking just a few seconds too long to answer, Joseph all but confirmed the theory that she was indeed a Woman in White, "Definitely."

"Well, that should do it," Sam knew without a doubt in his mind that Joseph was lying. Happy marriage his ass, "Thanks for your time."

Not bothering to say goodbye, Joseph turned and headed back to his shack, more than happy to be done with this bullshit. Pausing with his hand on the driver's side door handle, Sam turned and called out, not sure why he felt the need but fuck it. At the least he could confirm one hundred percent whether or not they owed Skye dinner.

"Mr. Welch," he leaned against the car as Joseph turned around, annoyance clear on his weathered features, "You ever hear of a Woman in White?"

"A what?"

"A Woman in White, or sometimes a Weeping Woman. It's a ghost story. Well, more of a phenomenon really. They're spirits," Sam walked slowly back toward Joseph, the tone of his voice changing, sharpening in something that might almost have been anger, "They've been sighted for hundreds of years, dozens of places. Hawaii. Mexico. Lately in Arizona and Indiana. All these are different women, you understand, but all share the same story."

"Boy," Joseph was growing more uncomfortable by the moment, a trace of fear in his voice. Not real surprising considering Sam could be kind of terrifying, "I don't much care for nonsense."

Turning his back to walk away, Sam followed after, not about to be put off so easily, "You see, when they were alive, their husbands were unfaithful to them. These women, basically suffering from temporary insanity, murdered their children. Then, once they realized what they'd done, they took their own lives. Now their spirits are cursed, walking back roads and waterways and if they find an unfaithful man, they kill him and that man is never seen again."

Rounding on Sam, Joseph shook his head in disbelief, voice quivering as he spoke, "You think...you think that has something to do with Constance, you smartass?"

"You tell me."

"I mean maybe-maybe I made some mistakes, but no matter what I did, Constance never would have killed her own children," Joseph's voice rose, growing loud with anger, "Now you get the hell outta here and don't you come back."

Turning his back on Sam, he walked away, shaking with fury and guilt, knowing in his heart Sam was right. It had been his fault. His wife, his children, had died for his 'mistakes'.

Watching the distraught man walk away, Sam stood there for a moment, sighing deeply before shaking his head and walking back to the car. No doubt about it, Skye had been right, they were definitely dealing with a Woman in White. They owed the kid dinner.


	10. Chapter 9

Dean had been searched, booked, fingerprinted and taken to a small room to be interrogated all within about half an hour of being brought in. Seemed like maybe someone higher up on the food chain than Officer Franks was anxious to talk to him. The weapons they'd confiscated off his person probably hadn't helped any. Eh, at least the girl was clean. ...he was pretty sure. After rushing him through booking, they let him sit and stew in the interrogation room for close to an hour, like that was supposed to bother him or something. As if. He could catch a nap anytime, anywhere and this was as good a place as any. Eventually, the Sheriff walked in, the one he'd about run into on the bridge, the one that had the real Marshals with him. Carrying a cardboard box packed full of files and who knew what all, he dropped it on the end of the table, the thud as it hit the surface loud in the otherwise quiet room.

"So, you want to give us your real name?," the stern look on the man's face seemed like a permanent feature. It was obvious this was a guy that was used to being obeyed when he spoke. Well, wasn't he in for a treat.

"I told you guys when I was bein' fingerprinted. It's Nugent," Dean leaned back in his chair, eyes bright with barely contained laughter. This certainly wasn't the first time he'd been in trouble with the law and, one way or another, he wouldn't be here long, "Ted Nugent."

Leaning forward with his hands splayed on the table, the Sheriff looked less than thrilled with Dean's sense of humor. No doubt he interacted with smartass crooks on a daily basis but, little though he knew it, he'd never dealt with one like Dean Winchester before.

"I'm not sure you realize just how much trouble you're in here, son," Sheriff Sweeten, if his name tag were to be believed, tried to impress upon Dean the seriousness of the situation.

"We talkin', like, misdemeanor kinda trouble or 'squeal like a pig' trouble'?" he really couldn't help himself, being a smartass just came naturally. It had gotten him into trouble more times than he could count and it'd probably continue to do so until the day he died. Hell, it might end up being the thing that would end up killing him.

"You got the faces of ten missing persons taped to your wall, along with a whole mess of Satanic mumbo-jumbo. Boy, you are officially a suspect," Sheriff Sweeten straightened up, placing his hands on either side of the cardboard box on the table in front of him, leaning over it to give Dean a grim look, "You're damn lucky that girl turned out to be legal or I'd have you on soliciting a minor too, not that I wouldn't be happy to throw some charges in that direction and see what sticks."

"The girl. She's okay, yeah?" Dean's expression turned serious for the first time since he'd been cuffed. Not that he was worried or anything. Pfft. Yeah, uh-huh. He didn't figure she'd be in any danger here at the station and she hadn't seemed like she was about to freak out or anything, and he was like ninety-eight percent sure she wouldn't say anything to incriminate herself or them. The girl was a lot of things but stupid wasn't one of them. And that was  _all_ he was concerned about. Or so he told himself. Repeatedly.

"Boy, don't you worry about her," Sheriff Sweeten sounded more frustrated by the minute, "You worry about you. I just told you, you're a suspect in ten missing persons cases."

Relaxing, Dean leaned back in his chair, the relief in his eyes gone as quickly as it'd come. She was fine.

"That makes sense," he shook his head, leaning forward and talking to Sweeten like he had all the intelligence of a goat. A particularly dumb goat, at that, "'Cause when the first one went missing in '82, I was  _three_."

"I know you got partners. One of them's an older guy. Maybe he started the whole thing," Sweeten sorted through the disarray in the box, pulling out a heavy leather-bound book that was stuffed to straining with papers and articles of all sorts, tossing it on the table in front of him, "So tell me, Dean, this his?"

From the look on Dean's face, you'd have thought the Sheriff hit him across the face with that book instead of just throwing it down in front of him. All trace of humor left him, his bright green eyes growing cool. That book meant something, something important, that much was obvious.

"I thought that might be your name," Sweeten parked himself on the edge of the table, reaching over to flip open the book, revealing pages full of photos, drawings, hand-written notes, diagrams…

"See, I leafed through this, what little I could make out anyway. I mean, it's nine kinds of crazy, but I found this too," he jabbed a thick finger onto a white lined page, blank but for 'Dean 35 -111' circled several times in dark ink, "Now you're staying right here till you tell me exactly what the hell that means."

* * *

As soon as they'd arrived at the station, the two of them had been split up, both taken off to be searched and fingerprinted. Skye had never been arrested before, she supposed this was something she could cross off her bucket list. Not exactly one of the things she'd really wanted fulfilled, but hey, no experience was wasted. Right?

The female officer assigned to Skye, Gina Torres according to the paperwork on her desk, ran Skye through the system twice before getting the okay to release her. They didn't have anything on her so what was the point on holding her. She'd managed to convince them she barely knew Dean, had just been getting a ride and had nothing to do with the missing men or the credit cards. Or anything else he might be caught up in. They seemed more than willing to believe Dean was the bad guy here and she was just an innocent bystander caught up in all this bs. Her sweet face, big brown eyes, and squeaky clean record probably went a long way toward getting them to buy her tale of woe. After a nice long lecture about hitchhiking and the dangers of taking rides from handsome strangers in shiny cars, they cut her loose. All in all, it had been a waste of about two hours of her day.

Rubbing her wrists, she left the station, hopping cheerily down the steps before pausing on the sidewalk to get her bearings. No telling where Sam was, and she didn't know his number to get ahold of him anyway. No doubt Dean was still inside and would be for a very long time if the cops had their way. Somehow, she doubted they would. She had no money, no ride, no phone and no way to easily get any of those things. Well, wouldn't be the first time she'd been in a tight spot. Sighing, she tugged hard on the end of her braid, eyes narrowed as she took a minute to figure shit out. Slowly she smiled, a glimmer of an idea coming to mind. Oh...that might work.

Having a pretty good idea of Dean's skill set, she knew he'd take any opportunity that came his way. At least, she sure as hell hoped so...not that he didn't deserve to rot for awhile. Now that she had a plan, she just needed to kill a little time, maybe find something to eat and a phone. Neither of those things would be particularly difficult, just annoying.

* * *

It was dark by the time she went to look for a phone. She'd spent most of the afternoon and evening browsing in a bookstore after she'd managed a meal. Not hard, she'd simply ducked into the nearest fast food joint and walked out with the first order they put on the counter as if it was hers. Not the first time she'd done it but she was really hoping it wouldn't be a regular thing in the future.

The rest of the evening had been fairly pleasant, spent wandering the few stores in this part of town that were open past six. It would have been even nicer if she wasn't exhausted. Oh well, at least she had a full stomach, decent clothes, and a solid plan. Smiling to herself, she waited patiently outside a 24-hour gas station, looking for just the right person to show up. It didn't take long before she spotted her mark. It never did. A gentleman, mid-30's, dressed nice but not too nice, you know. Slacks and a clean dress-shirt. Scuffed but shiny shoes. Older model expensive watch, probably bought second hand or as a gift from someone. Perfect. Arranging her expression to one that was almost but not quite scared, she made herself look as young as possible before approaching him, "Excuse me. Sir?"

She sounded uncertain, and honestly a part of her was. This was always a gamble. It wasn't the first time she'd done this kind of thing, though before it had been to ask for money, and there was always a risk. She'd come a little too close to being grabbed by unsavory types a time or two by unsavory types. Yay shitty childhoods, right?

"Yes," the stranger looked up at her, brow furrowed as he wondered what she could possibly want, "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, uh, sorry to bother you but um-," she shifted her weight from foot to foot, hands jammed into her jacket pockets as she gave off a good 'damsel in distress' vibe, "See, my brother was supposed to pick me up but he's a no-show and I don't have any change for the payphone. I was wonderin' if maybe you had a couple quarters or a cell phone I could use maybe?"

Looking at her for a moment, dude was hesitant but ultimately dug his shiny black cell phone out of his pocket and held it out to her. It was actually pretty astonishing how often men tended to give her what she wanted, if she asked nice enough. Must be the boobs, "I don't see why not. Just make it quick, yeah. And no long distance."

Bouncing on her toes, she held out her hand as the man dropped his phone into it, letting a relieved smile mask her weariness, "I will, I promise, and it's not long distance. Thank you so so much."

Flipping the phone open, she stepped far enough way for a little privacy but not so far that the man would think she was trying to make a run for it with his property.

Dialing three numbers, it rang twice before the operator answered, "911…"

* * *

"I don't know how many times I gotta tell you," Dean leaned forward, cuffed hands on the table, fingers laced together as he looked at Sheriff Sweeten with a cheerful smile on his lips, "It's my high school locker combo."

"Are we gonna do this all night long?," the Sheriff looked tired, no doubt from having to try to extract any useful information from this stubborn, smart-mouthed, obnoxious young man. It was not going well.

The door cracked open, a uniformed officer poking his head inside to address the Sheriff, "Sir, we just got a 911. Shots fired over at Whiteford Road."

Having delivered his message, he closed the door and disappeared back to whatever level of hell cops hung out in when not hassling fine upstanding innocent young men like Dean Winchester. Now try saying that with a straight face. Crossing his arms over the corner of the table, the Sheriff leaned forward and looked at Dean, "Do you have to go to the bathroom?"

"No?"

"Good."

Fishing the key to the cuffs out of his pocket, Sweeten undid the bracelet on Dean's right wrist and transferred it to the metal bar on the table used for exactly that purpose, double checking that it was fastened tight before walking out the door and locking it behind him.

Licking his lips, Dean watched him leave, a tired look on his face. The last few days had been entirely too long. Hopefully, they could all get this taken care of soon and he could get a solid eight hours. Or even four.

The moment the door closed, Dean looked at the pile of papers tucked in the folder next to the leather-bound book in front of him. Smiling, he reached for the paperclip he'd taken note of earlier, not hesitating to take the opportunity to slip his cuffs. He'd be out of here in no time. Shame on the Sheriff for not putting him in lock-up like he should have. It didn't take more than a minute for him to pick the flimsy lock on the cuffs, leaving the metal bracelets dangling from the table as he grabbed the leather book and stuffed it under into the large inner pocket of his jacket. It took about the same amount of time to unlock the door to the interrogation room. Seriously, they needed to rethink their security. Or at least replace all the locks with something that might actually be a deterrent.

Listening for a minute, he made damn sure the coast was clear before he opened it just enough to slip out. Careful not to be spotted, he made his way slowly through the station, making the briefest of stops at the evidence room. Which also had a crap lock. He didn't bother grabbing anything but his gun. He'd be damned if he was leaving that .45, everything else was disposable, even the phone was a burner.

It seemed the entire police force had gone out to the 911 call, which was likely exactly the case. A small town like this, any emergency got major attention. They probably didn't have more than a dozen officers in town, if that. Hell, maybe the whole damn county. Lucky for him. Managing to get to the back door without being seen, he cracked it and slipped out into the covering darkness of the alley. Waiting patiently once he was out, he stood in the shadow of the building next door until he was certain there was no one around to see him. First things first, he needed a payphone. A call to Sammy was priority, then he'd find out what the hell happened to Skye.

For a moment he considered just forgetting about her, seeing if maybe that damn curse had faded by now. A part of him knew it hadn't but maybe they wouldn't actually die. The stab of guilt, sharp and quick, that accompanied that thought was quickly buried. She didn't need to be involved in any of this, she was just a kid. This wasn't a good life for a girl like her. This wasn't a good life for anybody really, not anybody remotely sane anyway. Dean was proof enough of that, but then, he'd never claimed to be of sound mind.

Stopping at the mouth of the alley, he spotted a payphone and broke cover, mostly confident that they weren't looking for him yet. Stepping into the clear glass booth, he took the phone off the hook. He didn't have any change, the little bit of cash he'd had having been confiscated, but that wasn't exactly a deterrent to a guy who knew as many underhanded tricks as Dean did. Answering on the first ring, Sam didn't get a chance to get a word out before Dean was talking, "Fake 911 phone call. I don't know, Sammy, that's pretty illegal."

" _Sorry, man_ ," Sam laughed, " _Wasn't me. Glad to hear from you, though._ "

Looking bewildered, Dean didn't have long to wonder before a tap on the glass behind him got his attention. Turning, he saw Skye standing there wiggling her fingers in greeting, a smug smile on her pretty face.

"Son of a bitch," he tried hard not to smile, turning away from her before she could see it, "Well that mystery was solved pretty damn quick."

Walking around the phonebooth to stand in the doorway, she leaned in, as close to Dean as she could get without touching him, trying to listen to the phone call. Giving her a sour look, he half-heartedly swatted at her before choosing to simply ignore her. Or try to, anyway.

" _Skye?,"_  Sam made a noise that could have been, and probably was, approval, " _Not bad for a rookie."_

"Like she needs the encouragement. Hold on a sec, Sammy," he covered the mouthpiece, turning to look down at her, "How'd you find me?"

"Elementary, my dear Watson," she crossed her arms, sounding downright cocky, "This is the closest payphone to the station other than the one directly in front of it. They'll still have your phone in evidence and of course, the first thing you'd do is call Sam. ...Duh."

A nice little bit of reasoning there. Lucky for her he hadn't bothered to grab his phone or it would have amounted to jack shit.

"They let me go hours ago, Dean," She'd figured waiting for nightfall would be the safest bet. If the call came in as soon as she was let go, they might have put two and two together sooner than she'd wanted them to, "Sorry I couldn't make the call sooner."

That actually sounded like honest regret and not just lip service. Will wonders never cease.

And she hadn't even called him an insulting name. She must be more tired than he thought. Or maybe desperately ill.

"Don't worry about it, easier to slip away after dark," he took his hand off the mouthpiece, pressing himself against the far wall to make room for her. Leaning down, he turned the earpiece so Skye could try and listen in as he resumed his conversation with his brother, "Listen Sammy, we gotta talk."

Taking the unspoken invitation, she moved in next to him, standing close enough to brush against his leather jacket. Even leaning down, she had to rock up on her toes for her ear to be next to the phone. Damn he was tall. Or she was tiny. Or, you know, both.

" _Tell me about it,"_  Sam took up the thread of conversation as if he hadn't been interrupted, " _Constance is buried behind her old house and the husband was definitely unfaithful. We're dealing with a Woman in White….I think we owe Skye dinner."_

She smirked up at him, 'I told ya so' writ large on her smug face.

"What? Why?" he looked down at the smirk on Skye's face and wondered why he'd owe her dinner. Not that he'd mind terribly but...He cut off that train of thought, sparing a second to wish she'd move back a little, the scent of her was stronger in an enclosed space and it wouldn't be long before things got awkward, "Oh fuckin' A, I never took that bet."

He stuck his tongue out at her in a fleeting fit of childishness, "Besides, I got news, so shut up a second."

Ducking her head, Skye pressed her lips tightly together to keep from laughing. She didn't want him to think she thought he was funny or anything. Or just downright fucking adorable. Which he was. Shit.

Ignoring him, Sam continued without a pause, " _I just can't figure out why Dad hasn't destroyed the corpse yet."_

"Well if you'd shut up, that's what I'm tryin' to tell you," he reached into his jacket and pulled out the leather-bound volume he'd jacked from the precinct, "He's gone. Dad left Jericho."

" _What?_ ," Upset, Sam sounded like he didn't want to believe it, " _How do you know?_ "

Picking up the book, Dean looked at it, an inscrutable expression on his handsome features, "I've got his journal."

So that's what that book was. John's journal. Skye wondered what sort of things a guy like John would find important enough to keep track of. On second thought, she didn't want to know.

" _He doesn't go anywhere without that thing."_

"Yeah, well, he did this time." There was no doubt he'd meant Dean to find it, but why?

" _What's it say?"_  Sam prompted when Dean fell silent.

"Same old ex-Marine crap when he wants us to let us know where he's going."

Huh. So John had been a Marine. Now that she thought about it, she remembered Dean mentioning something to that effect a few days ago while they'd been bitching at each other about something unimportant. ...Cartoons. They'd been fighting about cartoons, of all things, though now she couldn't for the life of her remember why….Doubtless, he started it. Probably.

" _Coordinates?"_ Sam sounded reluctantly curious. He didn't really want to get involved in this any deeper than he already was, but he couldn't help asking, " _Where to?"_

"Not sure yet," though he was determined to find out just as soon as he got his hands on a map.

" _Dean...what the hell is going on?_ "

Opening his mouth to admit he had no fucking clue, he was cut off by the sound of screeching tires and Sam yelling on the other end of the line before the phone went dead. Talk about ominous.

"Sam," Dean wasn't really the kind of guy to show fear...except where his family was concerned, "Sam!"

Not even bothering to take the time to hang up the phone, he let it dangle from the cord, stuffing John's journal back in his pocket. Grabbing Skye's hand, he pulled her out onto the sidewalk, "We gotta go."

Obviously.

"What happened," she tugged her hand out of his grasp, "Sam alright?"

"You heard the same thing I did, Skye," he sounded worried, though he tried hard not to show how much, "I don't know. That's why we gotta go."

Stepping off the curb into the street, it didn't take him long to spot what he was looking for. Reaching for her hand again before stopping himself, he motioned for her to keep up, "Come on."

Not that she needed to be told. Not like she wasn't worried about Sam too. Sure, he was a virtual stranger, but she liked the man. Not to mention that, sadly, Sam and Dean were the only friends she had in the world. Dean tried the driver's side door of a little Toyota pickup and found it unlocked. Not that surprising in a small town like this. A lot of people didn't bother to lock their doors, car or home, not really worried about a mostly non-existent crime rate.

"Get in," he held the door open and stood back, waiting for her to slide in. It would have been just as easy for her to go around to the passenger side, but whatever, got to love bench seats.

"Do you know where he is?"

"Yup," Dean climbed in behind her, leaning over to do something or other with the steering column or ignition or whatever the fuck. It didn't take a Mensa member to figure out he was hot-wiring the truck. No big surprise to her that he knew how. Of course he knew how. She wondered how many other highly illegal things he'd been trained to do. It was kind of reassuring, in a way. He was certainly resourceful. Roaring to life, the engine was loud for a small truck, the rumble of the motor felt through the seats as he threw it into gear and peeled out of the parking spot. Pressing the accelerator down as far as it would go, the speedometer climbing steadily higher, going well over the speed limit before they hit the edge of town.

She really was going to die in a fiery crash someday, if his driving was any indication. No. That wasn't fair. She was trying to be nice, remember? Or at least nice-r. He was actually a pretty damn good driver from what she'd seen, just had a lead foot even under the best conditions, and these were far from the best conditions. Speeding down the road out of town that lead to Centennial Highway and past Sylvania bridge to Constance's old house, the both hoped that they'd manage to get there before anything terrible happened.


	11. Chapter 10

Dropping the phone when Constance appeared directly in front of the car, Sam yelled and slammed on the breaks with both feet. The screech of ties split the cool night air as the scent of burnt rubber assaulted his nose. Gripping the steering wheel tightly enough to make his hands ache, the shot of adrenaline coursing through his veins making him breathe heavy. Having someone, ghost or not, appear right in front of you while driving was a decidedly unsettling experience. He jumped, startled, as an eerie voice emanated from the backseat. A seat which had definitely been empty just seconds before.

"Take me home." It echoed, resonating in the confined space of the Impala, a feeling of dread creeping up the back of his neck as he looked at Constance in the mirror, her otherwise lovely face cold and pale. Her lifeless eyes sparked with anger as she insisted, "Take me home."

He took a breath, trying to remain calm. She only went after cheaters, right? Burying his fear, he refused, "No."

The click of the door locks resounded in the silence, trapping Sam in the car. Scrabbling with the smooth metal, he tried in vain to pry them up, to get the door unlocked so he could escape. Shifting gears, the car accelerated on its own, no human foot on the pedal as it lowered to the floor. It seemed Constance was determined to get what she wanted, come hell or high water, whether Sam cooperated or not. Her visage flickered in the backseat, a small self-satisfied smirk on her faded lips as the car sped down the highway, taking the turns at increasingly dangerous speeds.

While it may have seemed to take forever before they reached their destination, it was really only a matter of minutes. Time did funny things in situations like this, not that any normal Joe Blow would ever experience a situation like this to find out for themselves. Lucky them.

Pulling into the yard of her old place on Breckenridge, the engine dyed. The headlights briefly illuminating the rundown fence and dilapidated wooden house before the light faded, leaving only darkness. Looking in the rearview, Sam shook his head, "Constance, don't do this."

Speaking from the backseat, her voice hollow and chill, wavering with fear and regret, "I can never go home."

Turning in his seat to look back at her, she was gone. Vanished as silently as she'd come. Turning back around, he checked the door locks. Fuck. Still engaged. He didn't have time to try to pry them up again before she reappeared in the passenger seat next to him. One arm resting on the back of the seat, she faced him, skin white and bloodless. In the space between one heartbeat and the next, she moved, faster than any living woman ever could. Pressing herself into him, she shoved him roughly back and straddled his lap, the seat of the Impala folding back with the force of her movement. Falling back, Sam stared up at her with wide hazel eyes, trapped flat on his back beneath her.

He gasped in pain as she spoke, moving in a grotesque parody of seduction, "Hold me. I'm so cold."

The term 'cold as the grave' ran through his mind and he really wished it hadn't. She wasn't lying when she'd said she was cold, her skin freezing to the touch. Man, he hated vengeful spirits. They were such a pain. Literally.

"You can't kill me," he struggled to get the words out as the icy touch of her hand stole the breath from his lungs. He took a harsh breath, jaw clenched, "I'm not unfaithful. I've never been."

He cried out in pain as she leaned closer, mouth against his ear, a menacing promise in her words, "You will be."

Pressing her lips hard against his, she kissed him deeply as he struggled to get away. Sitting up, she gave him a sultry look as he reached for the car keys, just a fingertips length too far. Without warning, she vanished again, as suddenly as she'd appeared. For a split second, he thought she'd left, giving up when he wouldn't give in. Yeah, like he was that fortunate.

Howling in pain, Sam couldn't see her as she reached her ethereal hand into his chest, unseen but for the dark marks burning into the fabric of his shirt. Flickering into view like a bad movie reel, her once lovely appearance now ghoulish and skeletal as she peered down at her victim, Sam screaming as her icy fingers wrapped around his heart.

* * *

"You realize we just stole a car, right?" Dean finally broke the silence as they sped down the darkened highway, still several minutes out from their destination. He glanced over at her, wanting to gauge her reaction. How she'd handled the last day, and now this, spoke volumes about the sort of person she really was behind those walls. He had to admit, the kid had potential.

"Truck," shifting, she pulled her legs up to sit cross-legged in the seat, watching what little she could see out the passenger window go by in a blur of shadow.

"What?"

"Truck. We stole a truck, not a car," she looked at him, a vague smile hovering around her lips, "Well, you stole a truck. I'm just accomplicing."

"And you're okay with that?" He looked at her intently for a moment before turning his eyes back to the road in front of them. They were going 90+ on a dark highway in a stolen truck to save his brother from a homicidal spirit...and she was being pedantic.

"Yup," she leaned her head against the passenger window, feeling the chill of the glass beneath her, watching him as she wondered where he was going with this inane line of questioning.

"You know that's not normal, right?"

As if normal hadn't flown out the window days ago, stopping on the way out to yell 'fuck you' and flip her off, "What's not normal?"

Besides all of it.

"Being so chill about grand theft auto."

She just looked at him, the 'duh' so strong she didn't have to say it aloud, "Sam is in trouble. Maybe hurt. He's not a friend, but he could be, and he needs help. I'm not gonna quibble about how we get there."

Well, he couldn't really argue with that. As far as he was concerned, it was a very reasonable attitude to have, "You know 'accomplicing' isn't a word, right?"

Now who was being pedantic.

* * *

The old farmhouse came into view as they rounded a bend in the road, the shiny black bulk of the Impala sitting in front of it, lights off and engine silent. Dean slammed on the breaks, the truck fishtailing to a stop as he slammed it into park, jumping out before it had come to a standstill. He yelled back at Skye as he took off for the car, "Stay here."

You'd think he'd know better by now, I mean seriously. Glancing down at the saying written on her shirt, she shook her head at the stupidity of that order. Even her clothes spoke quite clearly on how she felt about being told what to do. Jumping out of the truck, she didn't bother to shut the door before she took off after him.

A scream split the air, barely recognizable as Sam's. Sliding to a halt a few feet from the Impala's driver's side window, he could see Constance crouched over the driver's seat. Her once pretty face was distorted into something no longer human as she crouched over her victim. Drawing a gun from the pack of his jeans that Skye hadn't even known he'd been packing, he fired several shots through the window and into the apparition.

Coming to an abrupt stop a few feet behind him, Skye winced at the noise. She hadn't realized how loud a gunshot was, only ever hearing them in the movies. Did firearms hurt ghosts? Even to her novice self, that seemed nonsensical. Not that she knew much about spirits, but she was pretty sure they didn't care about bullets one way or another. Cautiously stepping up beside Dean, she was just in time to see Sam sit up and throw the car into gear, Constance visible only as a white blur beside him. He hit the gas, driving the Impala straight through the wooden fence and into the side of the house, bringing half the wall down on top of him before the car came to a stop in the middle of the living room.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, sprinting toward the house before the car had come to rest in the rubble, Skye close on his hot little heels. Quickly making their way through the debris, they called out to Sam as they stepped over planks and ducked under beams.

"Here!" Sam hollered from inside the car, a cloud of plaster dust settling onto the formerly shiny metal, turning the black into a murky gray. It was definitely going to need a good wash and wax after this.

Throwing chunks of drywall out of his way, Dean leaned into the passenger side window, "You okay?"

Skye barely heard Sam's affirmative reply before her attention was caught by two small figures, children, looking washed out and pale. Somehow she didn't think it was just an effect of the dim lighting and dust.

"I see dead people," she whispered. Dammit, she was funny, even if no one heard her. Humor made a great defense mechanism against the screaming meemies that were currently threatening to send her gibbering into a straightjacket and an extended stay at the closest nuthouse. Paying no attention to an oblivious Sam or Dean, the children moved closer to her without making a sound. The little girl reached out and touched Skye's hand just as Dean managed to pull Sam from the car. As soon as the kid made contact, Skye's fear fled. She knew without a doubt that these two didn't mean her or the boys any harm. She'd never have been able to explain how she knew, she just did. Smiling, the kids shimmered out of view only to reappear at the top of the stairs as Constance made her appearance.

Creepy.

Wasting no time, Skye moved closer to the boys as they brushed the dust and splinters off of themselves, taking entirely too long to notice the angry dead woman that had joined their little cadre Bending over, Constance picked up a framed portrait of herself and her children, her movements jerky and unnerving. Dropping the picture, a look of pure hatred came over her as she raised her cold dead eyes to glare at the three of them. Popping into view right in front of her, Constance's little boy gave her a shove far stronger than any six-year-old should have been capable of. He'd obviously known something they hadn't, Constance choosing that moment to throw a heavy dresser across the room at them, missing Skye by inches and pinning the boys against the car. Seemed shoving Skye out of the way of imminent danger was a popular thing today.

Knocked clean off her feet, she flew back several feet. Undoubtedly she would have had a harsh landing but again the children saved her ass. Literally. Catching her and setting her back on her feet, they vanished again, reappearing at the head of the , that couldn't be normal. So not normal. Turning to Sam and Dean, she watched them struggle to move the dresser that pressed them back against the car, unable to shift it more than an inch or two. They didn't seem injured, just trapped, the sound of trickling water drawing her attention back to the head of the stairs before she could open her mouth to ask them if they were okay.

Following her instincts, she held out her hands in a 'I'm really freaking harmless' gesture, stepping slowly toward Constance in spite of the protest behind her as Dean questioned her sanity. Who in their right mind walked toward the vengeful ghost?

...Who'd ever said Skye was in her right mind?

"They've been waitin' for you for a long time, Constance," Moving slowly, she lifted a hand to point to where the children stood.

The Woman in White turned, looking up at her children as the water that had started as a trickle became a waterfall, gushing in ever increasing rivulets down the stairs and soaking into the floor below. Her children. Her babies. Pieces of a mother's heart made flesh...and she'd killed them. Held them below the water until they'd breathed their last. How could she have done such a thing?

The children became corporeal, able to be seen by everyone in the room and not just Skye and Constance, their voices echoing and swirling around them. Constance moved slowly to the stairs. Fear. Shame. Regret. Grief. All these warred for dominance on her delicate features as she came to a standstill, unable to force herself to take another step toward the children whose lives she'd so cruelly cut short.

"You've come home to us, Mommy," they spoke in unison in typical horror movie fashion, reaching out to hold each other's hands. Constance turned to run, too scared to face them. Her own children and she was terrified, but she simply wasn't fast enough. Blinking into existence directly in front of her, they threw their arms around her waist, tightly embracing their murderous mother.

Honestly, Skye had expected something terrible to happen. Screams of the damn, ghoulish visages and swirling vortexes of watery hell were all definite possibilities in her mind and from the looks on their faces, the boys had expected the same. Maybe they all watched too many freaky horror flicks. They were quite surprised when something very different happened instead…

The three figures grew luminous, growing increasingly bright until it was painful to look at them. Their cold pale appearances changing into what they must have looked like in life. Seeing Constance's fear evaporate was a sight Skye would never forget as it was replaced by a look of pure astonishment and joy. Smiling, her children looked up at her, still speaking in unison, the chime of their voices filling every corner of the room, "We forgive you, Mommy. We missed you. Welcome home."

Falling to her knees, tears streaming down her cheeks as she took her children in her arms and hugged them like she'd never let them go again, Constance looked up at Sam, "Thank you."

Before Sam could formulate a reply, all three spirits were enveloped in a blinding flash of white light, forcing the three of them to shield their eyes and look away. When they looked back, Constance and her children were gone with no sign that they had ever been except the water still soaking into the faded carpet.

"Well," Skye bit her lip, looking thoughtful, "That was interesting."

Can you say 'understatement'? Shoving the dresser away, Sam and Dean crossed the space between them. Stepping up to either side of her as she looked at the spot Constance had been standing, the carpet still squishy with the water the children had brought with them.

"So this is where she'd drowned her kids," Dean rocked back on his heels.

"That's why she couldn't go home," Sam pointed out, a little unnecessarily at this point, "She was too scared to face them."

"You found her weak spot," Dean clapped him on the shoulder, "Good job, Sammy."

"Too bad nobody brought her in sooner," Skye piped up, feeling the need to add her two cents, "Probably could have avoided a lot of drama and...you know...death."

"All this time, they just wanted their Mom back. Huh," Dean could relate. Running a hand through his hair, he turned on Skye, pointing an accusatory finger at her, "And you. What the hell were you thinkin'? I told you to wait in the truck! Walking toward the homicidal ghost...are you stupid?"

"Her? What about you?." Sam seemed none the worse for wear, all things considered. Cheerful even, "What were thinking, shooting Casper in the face, you freak."

Giving the end of her braid a sharp tug, she pondered the last twenty minutes. They'd banished a ghost. Probably saved a few lives Constance would have killed in the coming years. How about that. Maybe this Ghostbusters thing could be worth it. BIG maybe. Meh, she'd consider it more after a solid thirty-six hours of sleep and half a dozen large pizzas, "Anyone else wanna get the holy hell outta here?"

"Oh fuck, yes," Dean walked over to look critically at his car, hands in his pockets as he twisted around to look at his brother, "Sammy, if you screwed up my car, I'll kill you."

Without a word the three of them set about clearing the debris off the car and the floor directly behind it so they could back out and get the fuck out of there. Brushing broken glass out of the driver's seat, Dean climbed in and twisted the key in the ignition, breathing a sigh of relief and grinning as it started right up without a hitch. Leaning over, he draped an arm across the back of he seat and looked at the two of them out the passenger side window, "Get in losers, we're leavin'."

If he wasn't quoting Mean Girls, Skye would eat her socks. Dork.

"Remind me again why I'm supposed to play nice, Sasquatch?," she looked up at Sam, her voice low enough that Dean wouldn't be able to hear as she gestured to the dipstick in the driver's seat, "I'm havin' a hard time thinkin' of a reason."

"Because you're stuck with each other, remember?," Sam opened the back door for her, leaning down to whisper in her ear before she got in, "And you think he's cute. God knows why, there's no accounting for taste."

He earned an "accidental" elbow to the stomach for that one.

"Shake a leg you two, I wanna get gone before somebody comes lookin' for that truck." Turning on the radio as they pulled out onto the highway, Dean flipped the knob to the first station that wasn't half static, shrugging and going with it when Jonny Lang's 'Good Morning Little School Girl' came on.

Sitting forward, Skye crossed her arms on the back of the seat, bobbing along to the beat as Sam pulled out John's leather-bound journal. Flipping it open, he found the page marked 'Dean 35 -111' and grabbed a map.

"So I'm gonna assume you both know what that means?" she looked between the two of them, waiting with something that may have actually resembled patience. Hey, miracles happen.

"They're coordinates. Latitude and longitude," he tapped the numbers on the page before spreading the map out on his lap and studying it with the aid of a flashlight he'd taken out of the glovebox, "It's Dad's way of telling us where to go."

Looking at Sam, one hand on the steering wheel, Dean asked, "So, where'd he go?"

Smiling, Sam turned and handed the map and flashlight over his shoulder to Skye, "Find it."

"Wait what?," she leaned back, reluctant to take the items he was pressing on her, "Why don't you?"

"Already did. I know where you're going," he insisted," but you should know how to find coordinates on a map. It's a useful life skill."

Shit. He was serious. With a deep sigh that was more dramatic than the situation called for, she reached up and snatched the map and flashlight out of his hand, sitting back against the seat so she could spread it out next to her.

"Really?," Dean raised a brow in Sammy's direction, "It'd be a lot faster if you'd just tell me."

"There's no telling how long Skye's going to be around," How dare the man be reasonable, "I mean, have you even tried looking into getting yourselves untangled from that curse?"

…..Long silence…..

"Well no," Dean reluctantly admitted, "But I mean, we've been a little busy, dude."

"Exactly. She should know how to read a map, Dean."

"Speaking of," the 'she' in question piped up from behind them, "Anyone gonna tell me how to do this or am I just supposed to guess and hope?"

"Latitude is the first number, longitude is the second," Dean looked at her in the rearview as he explained, "Latitude runs east west, longitude is north south, more or less. Find where the numbers meet. Not hard."

"Explains how you're able to do it." Okay, he'd walked into that one. Clicking off the flashlight a minute or two later, she confirmed what Sam already knew, "Blackwater Ridge, Colorado."

"See? Easy," Sam offered her a fist to bump, leaving it up to her if she wanted to accept. She did, quickly, but she did. Turning back around, he sniffed, "Blackwater Ridge is about six hundred miles from here."

Glancing over at his brother, Dean made out his features in the darkness, "If we shag ass, we can make it by morning."

"Dean-," Sam sounded a little regretful, "..umm."

"You're not going," Dean's jaw tightened as it was wont to do.

"The interview's in like ten hours," Sam reminded him, "I got to be there."

"Yeah," he gripped the steering wheel tight enough to whiten his knuckles, as was also his wont. Let's face it, he's a simple predictable man when it comes to these things, "Yeah, whatever. I'll take you home."

Silence stretched uncomfortably around them until Skye just couldn't take it anymore, "So how exactly does one 'shag ass'?"

Clicking the flashlight back on long enough to pick a CD out of the box in the backseat floorboard, she turned it back off.

"You know what. Never mind," her tone was teasing instead of bitchy. Shocker, "I'm sure I could just watch one of the porno's in the trunk and figure it out."

Sam couldn't help it, "If you really want to know, I'm sure Dean could explain in a much more hands-on fashion."

Dean reached over and slugged Sam on the shoulder. Hard, "Dude."

"Sorry Sam, he's not my type," Skye yawned, "Pretty sure I'm not his either."

Yeah. Okay. Sure. Because we don't all know where this is going. Skye didn't even have a 'type' really, never having been in any kind of relationship, physical or otherwise. Hell, as of now, Dean was the longest friendship she'd had since she was seven. And let's face it, Dean's type was 'legal, breathing and sober enough to consent'. At least that's what Skye was choosing to think. Drumming her fingers on the top of her Discman, she was glad the car was dark enough that no one could see the look on her face.

"Right. So. Not to change the subject but I kinda wanna talk about the fact that I saw not one but three honest-to-God ghosts like five seconds ago." Pulling her legs up under herself to sit cross-legged, "Bright side, I don't think you're bathshit anymore. At least, not about that. Other areas are still up for debate."

Looking up sharply, Sam seemed to remember something, eyes narrowing as he turned to look at her over his shoulder, "Yeah, that reminds me. What exactly happened back there?"

"What do you mean?" Dean tapped a finger on the steering wheel, eyes automatically going to the rearview before he reached over to turn down the radio, curious as to what Sam was talking about.

"I mean she was standing right next to us and then suddenly we were trapped and she was halfway across the room making friendly with Constance."

" 'She' is right here. Don't talk about me in front of me, it's rude, do it behind my back like everyone else," she slipped her headphones around her neck before crossing her arms and leaning back, "You guys were right there. How could you not see everything? I mean, I know you were otherwise occupied, but still…"

"Humor me," Sam twisted around, arm laying on the back of the seat as he looked at her, "What happened?"

Shrugging a slim denim-clad shoulder, she answered without much thought, "The kidlets knocked me out of the way. Caught me too, which was nice of 'em. It's entirely likely I woulda broken something if they hadn't. I mean, weird, but not the weirdest thing to happen in the last two hours...right?"

Without warning, Dean pulled the car over onto the shoulder and threw it into park before turning back to look at her, "They shoved you out of the way?"

"...yeah," she was starting to look uneasy at the interrogation, "I mean, they were right there. You had to have seen them."

Exchanging a look, the boys both turned back to her, Sam shaking his head slowly, "Skye, we didn't see anything until they showed up at the top of the stairs."

"But…," she pulled on the end of her braid before twining a strand of hair around a finger, "I mean, they were right there the whole time. They held my hand. Which, by the by, not what I expected little ghost fingers to feel like. They were very...solid."

"They-they held your hand?," Dean shook his head, closing his eyes and turning to rest his forehead on the steering wheel for a minute before looking at Sam, "Yeah, that's normal."

"Don't look at me," Sam shrugged, "I don't know."

"You guys are freakin' me out a little so if you could stop, that'd be great."

"Yeah, that's not normal, Tinkerbell," Dean put the car back into gear and eased back onto the highway, "Either you're crazy, which you know, I wouldn't be surprised...or you could see the kids when they weren't makin' an effort to be visible. Anyone in your family ever claimed to have any psychic abilities or anything like that?"

"No. Not just no, but hell no," The question startled a bark of laughter out of her, "I think I'd know if I had any kinda ESP or some shit. There's nothin' special about me at all, I can promise you."

From the look on Dean's face, he disagreed rather strongly about that last part. Good thing nobody saw it.

Looking out the window, she was quiet for a minute before she asked, voice quiet and a little worried, "There's gotta be an explanation, right?"

"Right. I'm sure there is," Dean turned the radio back up, a hint of a smile on his lips as he decided it wasn't worth worrying about right now, "Like you're nuts."

"Gee, thanks, you're so reassuring, Winchester," she wrinkled her nose at him, not that he could see it, "Have you considered a career as a therapist? Don't answer, I'm not listenin'."

To emphasize that fact, she put her headphones on and pushed play before laying down on her back. Knees bent and feet flat against the seat, she was the very picture of 'average teenager', singing along to Katy Perry's 'E.T.'

Catching Sam's look out of the corner of his eye, Dean turned the radio down again, "What?"

"Dude," he gestured to the backseat, chuckling, "Nothing just-Are you listening to the lyrics?"

Chewing his lip for a minute, he side-eyed his brother, "...you think?"

"You want me to ask if she likes you? Like,  _like_  likes you," the smirk on Sammy's face would have been visible from half a mile off, "I think I can catch her in the hall after second period."

"Oh you had better pray she can't hear you, Sammy," Dean smacked his arm again, "Just shut up, you freak."


	12. Chapter 11

Three hours later they were pulling up curbside to Sam's apartment. Opening the door, Sam stepped out with Skye doing the same so she could say goodbye and move up to the front seat.

"It was really good to meet you, BFG," she smiled up at the scarecrow, hesitating only briefly before offering him a handshake. A real, full contact handshake. Improvement!, "Good luck on your interview, I'm sure you'll ace it."

"BFG?," He had to ask, accepting the handshake and knowing it for the full-on hug it really represented.

"Big Friendly Giant. Excellent animated movie," she stepped back into her personal bubble, "I highly recommend."

"I'll have to check it out," he smiled, "It was good to meet you too, Midget. And thanks. Try and keep my dumbass brother out of trouble, okay? And feel free to give me a call any time."

"Sure thing," she made a face, knowing how likely that was to happen, "I'll also try to keep water from being wet."

"You'll call me if you find him?," Sam bent over the passenger side window, "Maybe I can meet up with you later, huh?"

Giving a terse nod, jaw tense, Dean's face was disturbingly expressionless.

"Yeah," the skepticism in Dean's voice was clear, "Alright."

"Oh and uh, Dean, get the girl a phone." Opening the door for her, Sam waited until she'd tucked herself into the passenger seat before shutting and turning away, eager to go home.

"...hey Sam," Dean called after him.

Turning back, Sam looked at his brother questioningly.

"You know," Dean spoke up, a half smile on his absurdly perfect lips, "We made a hell of a team back there."

Smiling, Sam nodded, his tone tinged with a hint of sadness, "Yeah."

Breathing deeply as he turned away, Sam looked up at the window of his apartment. Hopefully, Jess was home. He'd missed her more than he thought he would. Maybe it was about time he started seriously looking for that ring he'd been thinking about…

He smiled at the thought and went inside, eager to get back to his normal 'apple-pie' life.

* * *

Pulling over halfway down the block, Dean threw the car into park, not ready to leave just quite yet. He had really been hoping he could convince his little brother to come with him. To come with  _them_ , he silently corrected himself. It had always been him and Sammy against the world and he'd missed him these last four years. He hadn't realized quite how much until he'd seen him again. Closing his eyes, he leaned his forehead against the steering wheel. Reaching out a hand to comfort him, Skye hesitated, pulling it back and folding her hands in her lap, "You okay, Dean?"

"What?," he raised his head, looking at his passenger, a ghost of a smile on his lips, "Oh, yeah no, I'm good. ...just tired."

"I don't doubt," she pretended to buy that, "When's the last time you slept, Winchester?"

Huh. She actually sounded concerned. Maybe Sam was right. But...nah. Better to just not even go there. Thinking about her question, Dean gave up after a second, "That probably shouldn't be a stumper, huh."

"No. No, it really shouldn't. I haven't slept more than what, maybe eight hours in the last three days and you? You've had less. How are you still functioning right now?"

"You can get used to anything eventually," he took a deep breath, "But yeah. I'm thinkin' we should get a room and crash out for a day before headin' to Blackwater. I mean, that's-We're goin' to Blackwater."

For a second there it was almost as if he was going to ask her if she was okay with that but changed his mind at the last second. Surely she was mistaken. She just nodded, no smartass remark or insult, unwilling to kick him when he was down. Not that he'd admit he was, he played his cards too close to the chest for that, but there wasn't a doubt in her mind that he was seriously bummed about Sam.

Breathing a sigh of relief when she didn't put up a fuss, he started to think that maybe things wouldn't be so bad. The girl..the young  _woman_ , he corrected himself, had potential. She was quick on the draw, smart, even somewhat funny on rare occasion. Well, when her sense of humor included things aside from insulting his existence, that is.

Who knows how things would have gone if Dean hadn't looked in the rearview just then, or if he'd just driven away instead of pulling over to collect his thoughts. He must have seen something, a flash of orange in Sam's window or a tendril of smoke. Skye didn't know, she never did ask.

Jamming the car into reverse, he hit the accelerator and jumped the curb, ending on the lawn a few feet from Sam's building. Jumping out, he threw his phone to Skye through the driver's window before sprinting inside. To her mind, it took her entirely too long to figure out what was going on. It couldn't have been more than sixty seconds, but it felt like so much longer after the fact. She finally saw the tendrils of smoke curling their lazy way out of Sam's apartment window.

"Shit," flipping open the phone, she flung open the door and got out of the car, looking up at the window as she dialed 911 for the second time in the last day or so. Picking up after the third ring, the operator spoke in that impersonal tone some of them cultivated, "911, where is your emergency?"

She was quick to give the rundown, making very sure to speak clearly as she gave the address and asked for them to dispatch fire and rescue. The operator urged her to stay on the line but yeah, there was no way. Once it was confirmed they were on their way with an ETA of four minutes, she snapped the phone shut and threw it into the car, her anxiety rising sharply as she headed for the entrance to the apartment building.

* * *

Stepping into the apartment building, Sam let the heavy metal entrance door fall closed with a crash, not wanting to take even the few extra seconds to close it gently. He was anxious to get home, anxious to see Jess. Maybe he could squeeze in a shower and a few hours sleep before his interview. Hell, maybe he could squeeze in a little something else before his interview...after all, who needed sleep? Grinning as his long legs took him up the stairs two at a time, he dug his house key out of his jacket pocket, impatient at having to take the time to unlock the damn door. Quicker than picking it though.

"Jess!," he called out, stepping into the dim interior. Not needing to let his eyes adjust to the change in light, he knew every niche and corner of his own place. Walking through the living room, he headed to the back, "Jess? You home?"

Stepping into his bedroom, he tossed his bag down on the floor by the door. The light was on in the bathroom and he could hear the shower running. She was home. Good.

Sitting on the edge of the bed he sighed, a content smile on his lips. This was how it was supposed to be. A normal life, a roof over his head that didn't belong to a shady motel, and a beautiful woman that loved him. Normal. Safe. Closing his eyes, he let himself fall backward onto the bed, hands laced behind his head. Maybe he'd doze for a few before Jess got out of the shower and discovered he was home. The woman did take long showers, not that he minded. It'd give him a chance to rest for a good twenty minutes at least, depending on how long ago she'd gotten in.

Something dripped onto his face, making him turn his head, having already started to drift off in the whole thirty seconds since he'd collapsed onto the bed. Dean wasn't the only one that could fall asleep anywhere at any time when given the chance. A second drop. Opening his eyes, he saw something that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Pinned to the ceiling, Jessica was trapped, eyes open wide in pain and fear as she gasped for breath. Trying to call out to him. Blood. The drops had been blood. Her abdomen was slit from hip to hip, blood soaking through to stain her nightgown.

"No!," screaming, the sound something a wounded animal would make, he scrambled back on the bed, the word ripped from this throat as the ceiling exploded in rolling sheets of flame.

"Sam!" The front door slammed against the wall behind it as Dean busted it with a single kick, naked fear in his voice as he yelled for his brother. Running through the apartment, he skidded to a stop outside the bedroom door and grabbed the doorframe to keep himself from losing his balance, "Sam! Sam!"

The walls caught as tendrils of flame licked at them, the intense heat spreading. Dean's breath caught in his throat as he looked up, slammed with the memory of his mother's death. Burning. Bleeding. Even so, he didn't hesitate before darting into the room, the twenty-two-year-old memory as sharp and clear as if it had happened yesterday.

Shielding his face, Sam screamed for Jess. No way to get to her. No way to save her. Though she'd been breathing, she was dead before Sam ever opened his eyes. Hell, when it came down to it, she'd been dead from the minute she met him and fell for those puppy-dog eyes of his.

Grabbing his brother, Dean forced him out of the room. No mean feat as Sam fought hard to get back, to get to Jess, to try to save her even if it meant he burned too. They stumbled out of the apartment seconds before it was completely engulfed, stumbling blindly down the stairs and coughing the harsh smoke out of their lungs. Dean forced Sam down every step, guarding against any possibility that he'd try to run back.

Waiting anxiously at the bottom of the stairs, straining to see through the thick roiling smoke, Skye breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted them. She'd been seconds from running up the stairs after them, fire or no fucking fire. The flames spread to the top of the staircase, licking at the wooden banister like a living thing, threatening to chase them clear out of the building. She herded them out the door the moment their feet cleared the bottom step, all three of them staggering out into the blessedly clean night air. The sounds of sirens split the night, the fire engines and an ambulance rounded the corner as they stood there, coughing and struggling to breathe.

Too late to save Jess. But then, it had always been too late, had they but known it.

Time moved oddly after that, blurring and running together like chalk art in the rain. The sounds of sirens and murmurs of a growing crowd of onlookers all melted together into one monotonous tone. The sight of emergency personnel and Sam's stricken face...Neither Skye nor Dean would ever forget the look in his eyes. Afterward, not one of them would have been able to give any specific details that happened in the hours that followed. The cops talked to them, getting statements. The paramedics examined them, proclaiming them fit enough and releasing them. It all seemed so horrifically tedious.

After who knew how long, Skye found herself standing next to the Impala with Sam, Dean still in the crowd watching the firefighters battle the blaze. Looking up at the dazed man, she'd gotten the bare bones of what happened out of him an hour before. She knew there was nothing she could do or say, no words to make this okay. He stood, eyes blank as he looked toward the smoke-filled sky, though she knew that wasn't what he was seeing.

Without thinking about it and with no hesitation, she stepped up and wrapped her arms around him, her head against his chest as she hugged him tightly. She didn't speak, there was nothing to say. That was the first time that Sam experienced Skye's unique ability to comfort the traumatized, though it certainly wasn't the last. He'd seen it a bit with Amy, but experiencing it was a whole different thing.

There was no way to describe it, really. A palpable atmosphere of consolation, of sympathy and comfort enveloped him for a minute, and odd but distinctly maternal quality to it. It was then that be broke down, hugging the tiny teen tightly, tears streaming down his cheeks as his unruly hair fell into his eyes. They didn't say anything, there was no need to, the young woman giving what little strength and comfort she could to the man who had so recently become her friend.

Stepping away at the same time, neither broke the silence as Sam wiped his eyes before opening the trunk to survey the armory within. Making his way back through the crowd, Dean joined them as Sam picked up a rifle and examined it, listening to it click as he cocked it. A cold anger filled his eyes as he slammed the trunk closed, "We got work to do."


	13. Epilogue

_The Personal Journal of Skye Winchester_

_I can still hear the slamming of the trunk reverberating through my dreams sometimes._

_The sound of the door closing on any chance of a normal life._

_For any of us._

_Looking back, I sometimes wonder, if I knew then what I know now, would I change it if I could?_

_We've lost so much over the years._

_Friends._

_Family._

_Innocence._

_Sanity._

_Even each other, though we always found our way back._

_I'd like to think I wouldn't. In spite of everything, all the loss and all the pain that was to come, I found what I'd always wanted most in all the world._

_Acceptance._

_Love._

_Family._

_We'd kill for each other._

_We'd die for each other._

_Really, what more could a girl possibly ask for?_

_Welcome to the Winchesters._


End file.
